


A Reason to Fight

by Gia279



Series: These Ain't Your Momma's Paperbacks [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: All Human, Cheesy, Derek's a terrible housekeeper, Derek's kinda a dick, FBI Agent Scott McCall, Hale fire, Human AU, Insomnia, Laura runs an inn, M/M, Meddling Laura, Multiple Pov, Nightmares, Other tags to be added, Paranoia, Photographer Stiles Stilinski, Witness Protection, don't be intimidated by the chapter count tbh, innkeeper Laura, parent-friend Laura, romance novel themed, so cheesy, suspicious derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:58:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 42
Words: 41,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: Derek Hale was the worst housekeeper in the history of housekeepers. He barged in without knocking, he cleaned half of the bathroom, and he only handed over fresh towels under duress. So what the hell was he doing working at the Mystic Inn, ruining Stiles's day every chance he got?The Mystic Inn, in Charming, Colorado, was a summer destination. The inn stayed open all year, but it was no secret they did most of their business in the summer, with their picturesque lake mansion. Charming was small, most of their guests were locals, or summer tourists who'd gotten lost and fell in love with the place. They didn't get semi-famous, mysteriously undercover photographers showing up on their doorstep, soaked to the bone and exhausted, at midnight. Laura Hale was many things, but a fool wasn't one of them. Their guest was running or hiding, and she intended to find out from what, and why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Third part of the summary:** _Stiles Spellman was a rich, spoiled brat. He showed up in the middle of the night, woke the entire house up, and demanded a room with no reservation. He made a mess of his room and, to make matters worse, he seemed to have plans to stay two more months. Derek didn't care_ what _Laura said, if he had his way, Stiles would be gone in a quarter of that time._
> 
>  
> 
> Whoo, I had to trim a lot of that summary off, boo. I put the third one in my AN because I liked Derek's, lol. I hope you like it! It's finished. Don't be intimidated by the chapter count, they're very short chapters. I based this story (and the rest in this series) on several romance novels, Frankenstein'd together into a sterek fic just for you guys. Hope you like them! 
> 
> I'll be posting **Mondays and Thursdays** until it's finished. <3 
> 
> Thank you, [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/), for looking over this as it was being written. All missed nonsense is mine. 
> 
>  

Derek was a fairly heavy sleeper, but even he woke when a violent crack of thunder shook the windows. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, heart pounding. He looked at his window and saw the flickering shadows caused by pouring rain. 

Something banged sharply four times.

He sat up, brows furrowed. 

In the room next to his, he heard Laura’s desk chair squeak back. The floor was so creaky, he could track her every move.

He beat her to the hallway. “You are not answering that. It’s two in the morning!” 

“It could be a guest.” She was still fully dressed, though her hair was loose. She was having trouble sleeping again.

“In the middle of winter? No one shows up without a reservation in the winter.”

She stepped around him. “Maybe they’re lost,” she said over her shoulder. “We can always use the extra money.”

“Not if we get murdered,” he muttered. He followed her anyway. At least if it _was_ an axe murderer, they’d be together. 

Laura straightened the wrinkles out of her shirt before opening the doors with a flourish. They both froze, stunned, at the sight. “Welcome!” she said quickly, to cover the way her eyes had widened. 

The man on their porch was pale as a ghost, soaked to the bone, and shivering.

“Sorry about that, we keep the front door locked at night. Come on inside. Derek, go get some towels, please.”

The man looked around warily, like _they_ were the suspicious ones. “Thanks. I got a little turned around, but this _is_ the Mystic Inn, right?”

“Yes.” Laura ushered him to the desk, clucking sympathetically at how cold he was. She shot Derek a sharp look over her shoulder.

He threw his hands up and went to get a couple towels. He grumbled to himself about the pile of laundry he was going to have to deal with in the morning. He was maybe less than gracious when he returned to the desk and thrust the towels at the man.

Laura stepped on his foot. “Well, Mr. Spellman, we only have two rooms on the first floor that are available, one by a terrace that leads to the garden, and the other, well,” she winced, “it’s between the side exit and the laundry room. We have a bigger selection on the second-”

“The one by the exit is fine,” he cut in. “Please.”

She studied his face, then nodded. “Alright. And for a week, you said?”

“Yes, please.” He had shadows under his eyes, and the bony sort of look of someone that had lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time. 

Laura poked at the computer, tongue caught between her teeth as she entered the impromptu check-in. “Okay…” She tapped a little more, then told him the rate.

He didn’t bat an eye, just pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and pulled out the exact amount.

Derek shot Laura an incredulous look; since when did they take cash-only payments? “Do you have a credit card?” he bit out. “We need it for the safety deposit.”

Laura shot him a quick glare.

“How much is the safety deposit?”

“Five hundred,” Derek said without hesitation.

Laura squawked and slapped his arm. “He’s joking, don’t mind him. It’s really just a two hundred dollar hold we put on credit cards in case there’s any damage to the room.” 

“Yes,” Derek said between his teeth, “but he is paying cash. If anything happens, we have-” He cut off with a grunt when she stomped on his foot this time.

Mr. “Spellman” didn’t bother getting insulted or arguing. He peeled three hundred dollar bills off of his roll and passed it over. “Will that work for now?”

“Yes!” Laura beamed at him. “Do you have any bags? Derek here can get them while I show you to your room.” 

“Thanks, but I’d rather wait until morning to get them. Hopefully the rain stops.” 

Laura grinned again. “Okay! The room is this way, Mr. Spellman,” she chirped. 

“You can call me Stiles,” he offered as they walked away. 

Derek shook his head, huffing in disbelief. _Stiles Spellman?_ Was Laura insane? That was obviously a fake name. He ducked under the check-in counter and pulled out the counterfeit checker pen, marking every bill he’d given them. When they passed, he held them up to check for the watermarks. 

So it probably wasn’t fake. Maybe he’d stolen it.

Derek prodded the computer mouse and scowled. 

Laura hadn’t gotten a copy of his ID for their records. Probably because she hadn’t _asked_ for his ID. 

He was waiting when she returned. “Are you a _lunatic?_ ” 

“What?”

“You didn’t ask for his ID, his name is _obviously_ fake, and he’s paying only in cash! Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

She shrugged. “Sure, but-”

“He showed up in the middle of the night, in the winter, and there’s no way he got so lost that he ended up here on accident.”

“So what? He’s not an axe murderer, and now we can fix the roof in the summer wing properly.” She tapped the cash drawer pointedly. 

“Not an—you don’t know that!”

She shrugged and walked around him to the computer, closing the check-in system and removing the till from the drawer. “I say he’s not. Goodnight.”

 

She was sort of right. Stiles Spellman, or whoever he _actually_ was, did not kill them or any of their guests in the night, or in the following week. He quietly moved his luggage from the SUV he’d arrived in to his room and stayed there.

Derek still thought Laura was being dumb. “Then he’s a bank robber or something!”

“Please.” Laura stopped doing her paperwork _just_ to roll her eyes at him. “You’re just mad you have another room to clean.”

And, okay, maybe that was part of it. Not that he’d admit it out loud. “He’s either a crook or a spoiled rich brat. I don’t want us to find out it’s the former when he tries to kill us in our sleep.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Well, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to him. He paid for his room for another two months, and since it’s our slowest season, we can’t afford to turn him away.” 

Derek gaped soundlessly at her. “Have. You. Lost. Your. Mind?!” he exploded, dropping the load of towels he’d been holding. “We do _not_ need the money that badly! Why are you so determined to trust him? We know nothing about him!”

“I don’t know. Call it a gut feeling.” She stood from her desk and crossed the room, stopping in front of him. “We don’t question any of our other guests, and he’s been nothing but polite. You told me when we opened-”

“Oh, here we go,” he muttered. 

“-that you wanted nothing to do with the business aspect of this, or direct guest services. I’m in charge, and I say he stays.” She scooped up the towels and held them out. “These have to be rewashed.”

He snatched them away. “I’m going to be pissed when he murders us.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Thanks for your comments! I'm super glad you guys are interested!

Laura Hale was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Despite what Derek thought, she did keep a close eye on their unexpected guest. 

So far, Stiles Spellman was too skinny, ate too little, and slept even less, almost as little as she did, and kept to himself, as much as he could at a small town inn with friendly, nosy fellow guests. 

She noticed he was jumpy, and that he frequently wandered the first floor at night, checking that the windows and doors were locked. 

It took until the middle of his second week there for him to start leaving his room during the day. 

Laura celebrated by forcing a plate of waffles on him. “Seriously, take it. Meals are built into the price of the room, and I know for a fact that these are the best waffles you’ll ever eat.”

He cracked a reluctant grin, which lit up his whole face. 

_Well, look at that,_ she thought. 

“I guess I’ll have to try them myself to see if you’re right.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” He took a seat at the dining table, which they used all year as long as there were guests. 

Laura surveyed the breakfast spread with satisfaction; aside from Stiles, they had five guests: a retired couple with too much time on their hands, a young local couple needing a week away, and a middle aged man who stayed with them for a month every winter since they’d opened. Six guests in the off season wasn’t bad at all. 

She watched Stiles greet the retired couple, who seemed to have taken an interest in him right away. They didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he politely dodged all questions that would divulge personal details; they simply chattered away about their plans for the day. 

Laura figured he was in good hands and left to call someone about repairing the roof in closed wing. They’d need it done by summer, if they wanted to have enough rooms to rent out. 

 

By lunch, Stiles had disappeared from the common areas. 

Normally, Laura didn’t keep such close tabs on guests—after all, they were free to come and go as they pleased, when their rooms were paid for—but Derek’s paranoia had gotten to her. Plus, she knew Stiles was running from something. And he was too damn skinny to be skipping meals.

She checked his room first, made a mental note to have Derek clean it, and, following a whim, went out the side door. She paused to breathe the crisp, fresh air, and tried to remember the last time she’d gone outside just to _go_. She just couldn’t.

They were set on a picturesque lakefront, a few miles outside of Charming, Colorado. They’d chosen it for the lake, actually, and the distance, which gave an impression of privacy, with the surrounding trees and the wide lake adding to the illusion.

It would snow soon.

Laura glanced back, but Derek could handle any emergency that came up, and it wasn’t like her paperwork was going anywhere. She stepped fully outside, letting the door shut behind her. She really should’ve grabbed a jacket, but she didn’t plan to linger. She looked left, then right, and decided on left; most people were drawn to the lake, even in the winter.

Stiles stood at the end of the dock, barely dressed for the weather; he had a camera up to his face, a professional-grade one it looked like, to Laura’s untrained eye. 

She waited until he noticed her as he changed angles. “You missed lunch.”

He lowered his camera. “Oh. Right. I got distracted.” He walked closer, jumping off the dock and into the coarse grass.

“Do you use traditional film?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes, but if I won’t have access to a darkroom, digital is better.” He sighed wistfully. “I’d like to see some of this on traditional film, I think.”

Laura _knew_ Derek was going to blow a gasket. She said, “Why don’t you set up a darkroom in the basement?”

He blinked at her. “What? Why?”

“You plan on being here for a little while, there’s a room in the basement that we don’t use.”

He still looked wary. 

Laura wracked her brains. “Okay, how about this—you use the basement as a darkroom, and for payment, you shoot some pictures of the property for a brochure for me.” 

He pursed his lips then, hesitantly, smiled. “Alright, I can do that. Thank you.” 

“Thank _you_. I’m not kidding about those brochures. Maybe some nice pictures will draw in more winter guests next year. Come on, Mina made soup and sandwiches for lunch.” 

Derek was eating in the kitchen with Isaac, their handyman and the third permanent resident. He looked up. “Where have you been?”

“Isaac, how much do you think it’d cost to set up a darkroom in that spare room in the basement?”

He made a face. “I’m not sure. The equipment is probably pretty expensive. Why?”

“Just wondering. Thanks, Mina,” she added as she grabbed some food for herself.

“Why are you wondering?” Derek pressed.

She shrugged. “I was thinking of having some photos of the property taken.” She took a bite of her sandwich. “Make a brochure and drum up some interest for next winter.” 

“That’d be cool,” Isaac agreed. 

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “I would think a photographer would have their _own_ space for photo development.”

“You’d think.” She finished her sandwich and started on her soup.

Isaac glanced between them. “You know, maybe I’ll go eat with the guests. Mrs. Rabinowitz likes to pinch my cheeks.” He fled with his lunch.

“Oh my god. Are you planning on blowing a bunch of money on a darkroom for that guy?”

“Derek,” she began, but he cut her off.

“No. That’s ridiculous. We shouldn’t be wasting money on stuff like that; if you really want pictures that bad, pay a professional.” He looked disgusted.

“First of all,” she said, slapping her spoon down on the table so hard that Derek winced, “I _never_ said I was going to pay for it, I was just curious. And second, I’d use my own money, not the inn’s.”

He winced again, dropping his gaze. “I get it, okay, fine, do what you want.” 

She sighed, her temper leaving her as quickly as it’d come. “Look, he’s a sweet guy. Just…be nice to him and do your work.” She was going to keep her eye on him anyway, but Derek didn’t need to know that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's so late!!! I feel bad but I just didn't have time today before I had to run to work, and I'm working on fic #3 for this series, so I can keep posting uninterrupted until I run out of ideas/steam so I'm hoping I can be forgiven lol. <3

Stiles studied the pictures he’d taken days ago of the property. They were high clarity digital shots, but he couldn’t help checking them corner to corner, trying to catch any missed detail. So far, the Mystic Inn had turned out to be a pretty good safe house, but he never trusted that for long. He’d had his suspicions about the siblings who ran it, but as far as he could tell, the Hales had no connections to the people he was hiding from.

He flipped to a picture of the trees out back, scouring the shadows as if he could see eyes watching him. 

Maybe he should take a drive soon. A long one, far away from the Mystic and this town, let himself be spotted. Just to make sure they didn’t go after his dad in their impatience to draw him out.

He could just keep driving after that. It wasn’t safe to stay in one place so long. But he was so _tired_ , tired of sleeping in the car, of showering at truck stops and eating beef jerky for every meal, of jolting every time a car door slammed too close to him.

Plus, he thought with a smile, there was the darkroom Laura had let him set up. He had most of the equipment already, stowed in the trunk of his SUV. He’d stubbornly been lugging it with him since it’d happened. He was glad of it now; it gave him something to do besides obsess. 

Everything he hadn’t had already, Isaac the handyman was more than willing to pick up for him in town. 

Stiles studied another picture of the parking lot, squinting at each vehicle’s windows. 

The door of his room flew open with a _bang!_

He yelped, toppling sideways out of his seat and sending photos scattering all over the floor. His heart thumped violently in his chest, vision narrowing on the window four feet to his left. If he bolted and stayed low, maybe he could make it without getting shot-

“I’m not making your bed for you.”

Stiles’s terror drained, replaced instantly by fury. He lurched to his feet and snarled.

Derek Hale didn’t look remotely intimidated.

“You’re _supposed_ to _knock_ ,” he spat. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Derek reached out and knocked on the wall. “Housekeeping,” he said flatly. “Give me your towels.”

Stiles snatched the wet one from his bed that he’d used that morning and flung it at his head. “You are the _worst_ housekeeper. Who just _walks_ into a guest’s room? What if I’d been naked? Or—or—or just _knock_ next time!” He bent and began frantically gathering his dropped pictures, trying to hide his shaking hands.

“I’m just doing my job. Don’t throw stuff at me. It isn’t my fault you’re so jumpy.”

Stiles turned his head to glare, still stacking pictures. “Last I checked, your job was also to change the linens and clean the bathroom, but you never seem to do either of those.”

Derek promptly dropped the wet towel on the floor, stalked past him to the bed, and yanked the sheets off the mattress. 

While he was furiously stripping the bed, Stiles put the pictures in the safe hidden under the desk, slamming the door and clearing the lock once he was done. 

“Clean your own towels,” Derek snapped.

“Clean the damn bathroom!” Stiles stomped past him. He seriously _hated_ that guy. He brought out the worst in him; he’d _never_ told anyone how to do their job before, would _never_ have shouted at someone to clean anything, let alone the bathroom, but somehow, Derek brought it out in him. He hated that. 

He went to the kitchen, surprised to find Laura in there with Mina, chatting about expenses and groceries. “Sorry,” he muttered, knowing his face must’ve been thunderous. “I was just going to the basement.” 

Laura frowned worriedly. “Everything okay?”

What was he supposed to say? That her brother was a fucking menace, an embarrassment to housekeepers everywhere, and that he wanted to smother him with the stupid towels he seemed incapable of drying completely? He managed a tight smile instead. “Yeah, I just ran into Derek on my way out. Do you need anything from down here?” he added, backing toward the door to the basement. 

Laura still looked concerned. “Uh, sure. Just, if you could bring up a case of soda, that’d be great. Whenever you’re done is fine, there’s no rush. Thanks.” 

“Sure, no problem.”

Mina winked at him before he turned to go down the stairs. 

He liked the darkroom. It was smaller than the one he’d had before everything fell apart, but it was functional. He’d been working on the pictures Laura had asked for, but he’d found himself getting _involved_ in the process, so he was taking his time choosing pictures he liked.

He’d taken some of the other guests—with permission, of course—in the sitting room, using the wide staircase that led to the second floor, playing chess, laughing over a meal.

He in particular liked the one of the young couple who’d checked out a few days ago. They’d been taking a much needed vacation from their two kids, and Stiles had been utterly charmed by how in love they were. The shot was of the two of them whispering, foreheads tipped together as they smiled at each other. 

He was thinking of framing it and finding a way to give it to them as a gift.

He could ask Isaac. He was usually more than willing, with his frequent trips into town, to help Stiles out when he asked.

Stiles got along with the older couple as well, who were on a retirement road trip, as they called it. They’d shown Stiles the collection of post cards they were gathering from every town they stayed in.

He scowled and stalked over to the drying trays. He liked Mina, and Laura, and the damn picturesque doe that liked roaming the yard in the wee hours of the morning, but he just couldn’t like Derek Hale.

He _was_ a terrible housekeeper.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did some calendar magic and discovered that if I keep on this schedule, I will not end up posting the end until way later in the year. That just isn't fun for me. So, here's what I'm thinking: once I finish the one I'm writing, I will switch to posting more chapters a week, just so that it eventually all gets up. They're short chapters, and the fic has 42. 2x a week is 21 weeks o.o so. :D

Derek swore under his breath as he scrubbed, still furious about _Stiles._ So, it was true he hadn’t knocked before entering, but did that give him the right to throw things at him? No. Or to look so goddamned terrified, as if Derek had shot him by walking in the door? No! He had no right to act like Derek was the bad guy.

Plus, he’d gotten some mysterious stain on the carpet, and now Derek was on his hands and knees trying to scrub it out, which was damn annoying.

Of course, if he were such a _terrible housekeeper,_ he probably would’ve left it. Though, he _was_ considering hiding wet towels between his sheets. He just had to think of a way to convince Laura it had been a total accident.

He could say the dryer was acting up. But then she’d have Isaac look at it, which would cause him to have a spiral of self-doubt when he found nothing. 

He could _actually_ break the dryer, but then it would cost money to fix.

“Hey!”

Derek jumped, his scrub brush flying out of his hand. He glared up at Laura. “What? I’m working.”

“What did you do to Stiles? He just went storming down to the darkroom pale as milk.”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” he snapped. “I’m just cleaning, like you told me to do.” 

“Only because you refuse to cook!”

“I already told you-”

“I know.” She held a hand up. “Look, cut the guy some slack, is all I’m saying. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. So just—make sure not to sneak up on him.”

“Obviously,” he sneered. Sneaking had been exactly Derek’s goal, of course. He still didn’t trust Stiles, his fake name, or his fancy camera equipment. He’d been hoping to catch him doing something nefarious.

Laura rolled her eyes. “Fine. When you’re done in here, can you get the green and blue rooms ready? We have two reservations arriving later tonight. I know they’re probably serial killers, but they paid for the rooms,” she added dryly. 

“ _They_ made reservations!” he called after her. He got back to scrubbing, taking out his frustration on the carpet. He hated that the rooms were color coded, and that the color schemes worked and were well loved by the guests. It was exhausting, having Laura be right all the time.

He moved onto the bathroom begrudgingly. It wasn’t even that dirty, just a little dusty. He didn’t know why Stiles was complaining. He could easily clean this himself, he’d been here two and a half weeks. 

It was pretty obvious once Derek started cleaning that Stiles _had_ been cleaning it himself. It’d have been much worse off if he hadn’t.

Derek figured he’d have cleaned it again if Derek hadn’t have barged in, and decided to take it as his due for that. He wished he’d learned something by bursting in, but he couldn’t guess why Stiles had jumped so hard. 

He’d just been looking at pictures. 

Derek paused, toilet brush in hand. If they were just scenery pictures, why _had_ he jumped so hard? His mouth twisted grimly. 

If he’d been taking _unsavory_ pictures of people without their knowledge, that would definitely warrant such an extreme response. He’d hidden them before Derek could get more than a glimpse. 

Bathroom forgotten, Derek set about meticulously searching the room without actually touching anything.

Stiles had set up a laptop and a printer on the desk, along with other equipment that Derek couldn’t identify. There was a stack of photos by the mouse, but they were all of different parts of the property, particularly the lake. 

So he either hid the pictures he’d been looking at really well or they were just the scenery pictures Derek found on the desk. They looked like postcards. He rolled his eyes and went to grab his cleaning supplies. He had to get those rooms ready before Laura lectured him about time management. 

Stiles was probably just some rich, spoiled brat who had delusions about how important he was, so he used a fake name to feel special. 

Derek was still going to watch and see if he was spying on their other guests. Just in case.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! <3 Hope you like this chapter! If there are any typos, I apologize, my keyboard is being a FUCKING DICK so it's been fun x) this is one of [rebekahdarian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rebekahdarian/)'s favorite chapters. I'm working out a posting schedule that will get this story up sooner, because I am like. first of all eager to get to the rest of it, but secondly, like this 2 chapters a week for 42 chapters thing is going to take FOREVER so that's not gonna work.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments! They make me so happy! I hope you're enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing them.

Two more couples arrived that night, plus a family of four who had been directed to the Mystic by locals when they needed a place to stay for a couple nights while their car was in the shop. Stiles was nervous, but none of them paid him any attention. He still made it his mission to avoid them at all costs.

“Stiles,” Laura gasped, catching him on his way to the darkroom. “Could you help Mina in the kitchen? I’m so sorry to ask, and you can absolutely tell me to go to hell. I know you’re a guest, too. We weren’t expecting so many people and Mina could really use a hand, and Derek’s already helping Isaac-”

“Sure,” Stiles said quickly. “No problem.” Anything to avoid the crowd. 

She threw her arms around him for a quick hug before he could flinch away. “Thank you so much.” She ran out to the dining room to set up for dinner.

In the kitchen, Mina looked frantic, her curls springing out of her tie. “ _Ten_ people! In the middle of the off-season! What is happening?!” 

Stiles muffled a laugh. “Seems like a blizzard is coming in a few days, and they wanted a view.” 

She scoffed.

“I’m here to help. What can I do?”

“Peel these potatoes for me. Normally, Laura would have Derek helping me with this, but he’s helping Isaac with the radiator.” She flew around the kitchen while she spoke. “It’s acting up, and Laura wants to get any parts it may need before the blizzard.”

Stiles began peeling the potatoes, trying to imagine Derek helping out in the kitchen.

With the radiator, yes, he seemed like the type to heft a wrench and start banging on machinery, but peeling potatoes? Dicing onions and carrots? No way.

“What are you making?” he asked as he peeled. 

“I _made_ beef stew, but not nearly enough for ten guests and us, so I’m supplementing what I’ve already got to hold everyone over. I made extra biscuits to go with it. Here, once you’re done peeling, dice them and toss them in.”

Stiles did as told; he’d never been much of a cook himself, but he could follow orders in the kitchen like a champ.

Mina talked as she cooked, chattering about how she’d known the Hales for years, how Laura was her best friend, and how Derek wasn’t nearly as grumpy as he seemed. She told him that beef stew was Derek’s favorite dinner, while Laura was a salmon person. 

It was nice, and filled the silence while they worked to prepare plates and bowls for Laura to rush out to the guests. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” Mina sighed as they finished everything. “Here, there’s just enough left for you to have a bowl.”

Stiles peered into the pot. “I’m okay, actually. I’ll just have a biscuit. Save the rest for Derek.”

Mina’s brows lifted.

He tried not to flush. He was just being nice, even though Derek absolutely didn’t deserve it. He was simply being the bigger person.

“Well, alright. Here, I’ll make you a quick sandwich. Laura will have my head if I send you away without food,” she added.

“Why?”

“I—because you’re a guest, and we’re supposed to feed you,” she stammered. 

Stiles didn’t argue. It was easier that way; besides, a sandwich sounded better than just a biscuit, though he’d lived on less. Sometimes it was too dangerous to stop for any amount of time.

Remembering those early days made his stomach clutch with nerves, chasing his appetite away, but he still smiled and thanked Mina for the sandwich anyway. He’d just go pick at it in the sitting room where she couldn’t see and put it in the fridge later. 

Laura had started up the fireplace and had a stereo playing soft classical music while everyone ate in the dining room. She saw Stiles and smiled. “Thanks for your help.”

“I didn’t mind. Gave me something to do.”

She nodded. “Enjoy your dinner, okay? I’ve got to help Mina clean up.” She smiled at him again before she left. 

Stiles chose one of the wide, squishy arm chairs to sit in with his sandwich.

Isaac and Derek passed through while he was picking at it. Isaac waved cheerfully, but Derek just frowned at him like usual.

Stiles didn’t let it bother him.

Mr. and Mrs. Rabinowitz joined him in the sitting room after a few minutes; while Simon got out his knitting needles, Teresa came to sit by Stiles. 

“You better eat that sandwich,” she said cheerfully. “You look like a good gust of wind would carry you off.”

He smiled. “I’m pretty wiry. I could definitely take Simon.”

“We’ll duel at sundown,” he said without looking up. “I’ll bring my needles.” 

Stiles and Teresa laughed. 

Teresa patted his knee. “You eat, I’ll talk. I’ve noticed you taking pictures—and you asked if you could take pictures of us around the inn, of course.”

He nodded warily, his mouth too full of sandwich to answer verbally. He was hoping she just wanted the negatives of the pictures he’d taken of them. 

She beamed. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to take some shots of Simon and myself for us to take home. It’s been so long since we had printed photos taken, and Laura says you have a real talent.”

Stiles thought of his awards collecting dust at his father’s house. He smiled wryly. “That’s very nice, but I’m not usually good at taking posed pictures.” 

Teresa waved her hands. “That’s fine. We’ll pay you, of course. What’s your usual rate?”

Now he thought of sleeping in a pup tent, of holding still for hours for the perfect shot, of talking to locals and using his last bit of fuel to get to the perfect vantage point. “You have to send me a post card from the next city you visit,” he said. “Send it here, I’ll probably still be here.”

She looked surprised. “That isn’t nearly enough, dear, I know how much professionals charge.”

Stiles shrugged. “Do you want traditional or digital film?”

“Digital is fine.”

For the next hour, they discussed the types of pictures and colors she wanted; she apparently didn’t want anything posed, which Stiles could work with. Simon’s only input was no black and white, which, he’d said, at his age he’d seen quite enough of.

Stiles found himself laughing more than he had in over a year, and he’d finished his sandwich and the biscuit before he’d realized it. 

Meanwhile, the other guests had joined them, turning the music louder while they socialized. 

Stiles’s fingers itched for his camera when the parents of the family got up and started dancing, but he didn’t get it, decided to commit the moment to memory instead. He smiled when Simon got up and took Teresa’s hand, joining the younger couple on the floor.

“Do you want to dance?”

Stiles glanced over and saw one of the two couples who’d checked in earlier; it was the husband, holding his hand out while his wife smiled encouragingly. They were about Stiles’s age, maybe a couple years older. “I don’t know how,” he admitted. 

“That’s okay, we’ll show you.”

Stiles decided against arguing and instead let them pull him to the middle of the room. When it became apparent that he hadn’t been exaggerating about his lack of skill, the rest of the guests decided to take it upon themselves to teach him a simple slow dance.

It was silly and fun and a waste of time, and Stiles loved it. By the time most of the guests had turned in for the night, he felt like ten pounds of weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Jesse and Dana, the couple who’d first invited him to dance, invited him shyly back to their room once it was just the three of them. 

“Sorry,” he said after gently refusing. “I don’t share well. But I’m flattered, really.”

They didn’t seem too disappointed as they went upstairs; mostly relieved, probably that he hadn’t reacted badly.

Stiles went back to his seat and curled his knees up to his chest. He stared into the dying fire. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in a long time.   
 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not going fast enough for meeee >.< I'll figure something out one I'm done. Hope you enjoy! <3

Laura watched Stiles nodding off on the chair and clicked her tongue quietly. She wondered how long it’d been since he’d felt safe enough to do that, then decided she didn’t want to know. She crossed the room and shook his shoulder lightly. 

He jolted awake like he’d been shot, hands flying to his chest, eyes wide and unseeing. He gasped, “Don’t!” and lurched to his feet. 

Laura stepped back, hands raised. 

Behind Stiles, Derek stood tense in the doorway of the kitchen, obviously ready for him to attack. 

Laura had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Stiles,” she said soothingly, “it’s alright. You were just having a bad dream.”

He blinked slowly, looking around like he didn’t know where he was.

“I just thought you’d be more comfortable in bed,” she continued in the same tone. “Come on. Into your room.”

“I…sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to drift off.”

“That’s fine.”

He followed as Laura led him back to his room, still sleepy and confused, though not so much that, once he got to his room, he forgot to shut and lock the door.

Laura stared at the door for a long moment. _Who hurt you?_ she wondered. She sighed and shook her head as she went back to the kitchen. 

Derek was waiting for her at the table, eating the bowl of stew Mina had set aside for him. It was his favorite in the winter. 

“How’s the radiator?”

He shrugged. “Isaac’s going into town in the morning for a couple parts, but after that, it should be fine.”

“Good. We’ll need it.” She ran her hand over her ponytail, irritated by how loose it’d come. She set about fixing it and shot Derek a grin. “You missed it, the Deluca couple invited Stiles back to their room tonight.”

“So?”

Laura giggled. “As in, they invited him to _bed_ with them.”

He choked on a piece of carrot.

“See?” she said smugly. “Everyone _else_ likes him fine. You’re just mean.”

He drank some water, glaring at her over the rim of the cup. “Just because the horny honeymooners wanted to fuck him doesn’t mean he’s trustworthy.” 

She glared at him. “That’s nice language.”

He shrugged.

“Besides,” she said on a sigh, “he doesn’t have to be a model citizen. He paid for a room, so we should treat him like any other guest.”

“He paid _cash_ -”

She put up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it again, okay?” She got up and hunted down a notepad. She started a list. “Give this to Isaac when you see him, please.” She finished the list and tore off the sheet. 

Derek looked it over and lifted his brows. “Really?”

She shrugged self-consciously. “Yeah. It’s going to be cold and gloomy for a few days with the blizzard on its way. I figured everyone could use the pick-me-up.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll give it to him.” He grabbed the pen and added some ingredients of his own.

Laura turned her head to hide her grin. “Thanks,” she said evenly. “I think I’ll turn in for the night.”

“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t look up. “Try to sleep a little bit, okay?”

She sighed and got up, rounding the table so she could get her arm around his neck. “Yeah, I will.” She squeezed lightly. “Love you, you stubborn asshole.”

He laughed and hugged her back. “Love you, too.”

She left him in the kitchen and went to their library. It used to be a master bedroom, but they decided to turn it into a room for books two years ago, with a wide variety of genres. She’d insisted and pushed until Derek had agreed to put a coffee table and some furniture in there as well.

Last year, she’d bought a collection of photo books on a whim, spreading them on the coffee table. She’d probably read them more than all of their guests combined had even glanced at them. 

There was one in particular she’d always liked the most, a collection of photos through each phase the photographer went through as he found his niche. 

There’d been landscapes, travel photos, wildlife shots, city streets and old country roads, people and pets, all taken with a sense of curiosity and reverence. 

She picked it up when she found it, flipping to the _About the Author_ page. 

“ _Mieczysław Stilinski burst onto the photojournalism scene when he was just twenty, but he didn’t stay, finding it distasteful to profit on suffering. He’s been trying to find the perfect shot since._ ”

The picture was of a laughing young man; his cheeks were fuller, and he didn’t look quite as pale, but that was definitely the man going by Stiles Spellman.

Laura studied the picture and wondered what’d effectively killed the light in his eyes. 

She closed the book and tucked it under her arm. She didn’t know what he was hiding from, but until he felt safe, she’d just hold onto it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

There was someone watching. Always watching, except this time they were getting closer, this time they were going to kill him, just like—

Stiles woke with a gasp, already swinging before he remembered where he was. His fist collided with something.

Derek fell back shouting. “What the hell!”

“Why did you come in without knocking again?!" Stiles seethed. He pulled his blanket up to his chest; he was fully dressed, always slept fully dressed, but he felt exposed anyway. Why hadn’t he heard the door unlocking or opening? How had Derek gotten so close without waking him?

Derek was still holding his nose; blood dripped between his fingers. 

Guilt bit at him. “I didn’t mean to hit you. Just—why do you _do_ that?”

Derek’s brows furrowed; the tops of his cheeks turned red. “I brought towels,” he growled.

Stiles wondered why he looked embarrassed _now_. “You did?”

He gestured with his free hand at the pile on the floor, where he’d dropped them after Stiles had punched him.

Stiles frowned at them. “They weren’t folded.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Do you want them or not?”

He got out of bed and took one, then paused, feeling awkward. “Do you want me to go get you some ice?”

“Do you always sleep with your shoes on?” He sounded annoyed. 

Stiles tensed. “Whatever. Learn to knock,” he snapped, stalking to the bathroom and closing the door. A few minutes later, he heard the door slam as Derek left.

He looked at his reflection and grimaced. If he was getting comfortable here, complacent, it was time to leave. 

Just the idea made him tired. He hadn’t been spotted, and he’d been making sure to keep an eye out. He wanted to stay. It was quiet here, and anonymous. Who would look for him in this tiny town? He swallowed with difficulty. If he wanted to stay, he’d have to take some precautions, especially if he was getting relaxed. There were too many things that could go wrong if he wasn’t paying attention. He had to be ready at all times. 

He rubbed his eyes and went to the room. He used a piece of the stationery that’d been on the desk when he’d checked in; it was a pale gray color, matching the other silver aspects of the room. He thought over his words and decided the simpler the better, and scribbled out a set of basic instructions:

“ _Do not open the safe. Do not clear out my stuff. If I do not return, and someone comes looking for me or my things, LET THEM TAKE EVERYTHING. You do not know where I went. You do not know what I’ve left behind, you haven’t looked through anything. Forget I was ever here. Burn this._ ” 

He folded the paper in half and crawled under the desk, opening the safe. Inside were several rolls of cash, a few thousand dollars each, some pictures, and a tiny canister, containing negatives that had nearly cost Stiles his life. He squeezed his hand around it, then, with a sigh, replaced it and straightened up. He made sure it was locked and set the note on the desk, clearly and easily visible. 

It was better to leave them behind. At least if they caught up to him, he’d be able to die knowing that the negatives were hidden.

He grabbed his windbreaker and keys, and his favorite camera. Maybe he could avoid questions by saying he was going to take pictures. He glanced wistfully at his laptop and printer, but reminded himself that, best case scenario, he’d be back. 

Teresa spotted him as she was coming down the stairs. She beamed at him. “I was talking to Simon, what do you think of doing the pictures after the blizzard? I love the snow so much.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” He met her halfway to give her a hand with the rest of the stairs. “You and Simon should build a snowman, and I can do some action shots.”

She giggled delightedly. “That sounds wonderful! I haven’t made a snowman since I was probably your age.” She patted his arm when they reached the ground floor. “I’ll let Simon know.”

“Perfect.” He smiled tightly at her. As he turned, a toddler streaked by, nearly tripping him. He caught the bannister, heart pounding. 

“Sorry!” The father caught the toddler before she could make it more than three steps up. “She’s violently opposed to clothes right now.”

“That’s alright. Good luck.” He stepped around them and headed for the front desk.

Isaac stood from behind it and grinned. “Hey. Heard you gave Derek a bloody nose.”

Stiles scowled. “I was asleep. When I woke up and saw someone standing over me, I freaked out, like _anyone would._ ”

Isaac nodded. “Oh, yeah, totally. Laura gave him an earful about it.” 

“Hah! Serves him right.”

Isaac grinned again. “Hey, do you need anything from town? I have to get some parts for the radiator.”

“Actually, yeah. Could you get me an eight by ten silver frame? It’s a gift,” he added. He pulled a fifty from his pocket and passed it over.

“Sure. Who’s it for?”

“The couple that was here a little while ago. I took a picture of them and thought they might like it. Laura said they were locals, so I thought I could get it to them.”

Isaac frowned thoughtfully, then his face lit up. “ _Oh!_ That was Erica and Boyd. They’ll love it,” he added. “Was that the one you showed Laura and me?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “You’ll make them cry.”

“What? Why?”

“That picture you got was just a few minutes after Erica’s doctor called. They’re expecting baby number three.” He whistled between his teeth. “Oh, man, they’re going to love it.”

Stiles felt a swell of emotion in his chest. “Well, I’m glad,” he croaked. 

Isaac smiled. 

“Um, is Laura around?”

“Yeah, she’s in the kitchen. She thinks Mina’s sick, but she says she’s fine. I’ll get that frame for you.”

“Thanks.” He moved past him to the kitchen. 

Laura was leaning against a counter, eating an apple and reading over a piece of paper that looked like a bill. She grimaced at it.

“Hey.” Stiles waited until she looked up. “Um, I just wanted to let you know I was going for a drive. I’ll probably be gone a while, but I’ll be back.”

She blinked owlishly at him as if she hadn’t understood a word he’d said. “Okay,” she said at last. “Be safe.” 

He wished he could promise that. Instead, he smiled a little and said, “Thanks. I’m leaving my stuff in my room.”

She shook her head. “I’ll keep Derek out.”

He managed a dry laugh. “Thanks.” As he left, he could only hope that he’d be back. But if he didn’t let them spot him somewhere, they’d go after his dad and he’d rather let them catch him than let his dad get murdered. 

No one else was getting hurt because of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all probably going "Whoa! Way for Derek to cross a line!" and he did, totally, but there's a reason he went in there that time, and it wasn't to be a dick. <3


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles still wasn’t back from his drive. By ten pm, Laura gave up and locked the door for the night. 

“He’s woken us up before,” she reasoned. 

Derek glared at her. “Yeah. Let’s have him pounding on the door at two in the morning again.”

“He said he’d be back. Maybe he meant in the morning.” She shrugged nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t bothered at all. 

“He said _later_. You said he said later. And he had Isaac pick up a picture frame for him in town.”

“Yes…which he can get in the morning.”

Derek scowled. “I just think it’s rude to ask someone to pick something up for you and then disappear before they can give it to you.”

Laura lifted a brow. “He didn’t disappear. He left all of his stuff, except one camera. He obviously left to take some pictures, maybe he got caught up and lost track of time.”

He rolled his eyes. “ _Whatever._ I have laundry,” he muttered, stalking away. He heard Laura grumble something, but he just went to the laundry room. He’d forgotten the spare set of silver sheets in the washer, where he’d tossed them after getting mad at Stiles for telling him to change them. He rolled his eyes and yanked them out, throwing them in the dryer with extreme force. 

Who just left for twelve hours, right before a blizzard? Stupid people. He was obviously just stupid. He’d probably never seen a real snowstorm in his life, and expected maybe a foot. 

Derek snorted as he slammed the dryer shut. 

Stiles was in for a rude awakening if he expected a pretty but manageable snow flurry. The guy barely dressed for the weather as it was, let alone for the subzero temps they were expecting.

He fiddled with the timer dial.

Stiles might end up stuck in his car. The SUV was big, but it looked more flashy than functional. He’d left in jeans, a sweater, and a windbreaker. He’d probably freeze overnight if he got stuck.

_Serves him right,_ Derek thought, punching the start button.

He didn’t mean that. 

Stiles was annoying, but he didn’t deserve to freeze to death. 

It wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t left for some stupid, random, faux-artistic road trip.

Derek scowled. 

He’d probably gotten the idea from some blog about artists who traveled and decided to wander off. 

He left the laundry room with a huff, heading straight for his room. He’d vacuum the sitting room in the morning.

He dropped into bed twenty minutes later and glared at the ceiling. He was going to be pissed if he couldn’t sleep because of him. 

 

Stiles still hadn’t returned by ten the next morning. The first few heavy clouds had begun to roll in while Derek was alternating between watching the weather and vacuuming the sitting room. He’d moved on to aggressively vacuuming outside of Stiles’s room when Laura flew down the hall. He flicked the vacuum off and glared at her. “If this is about Isaac, I’m not apologizing, he almost broke my foot.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “No, it isn’t about Isaac, but you _should_ apologize to him. It was an accident, and you shouldn’t have yelled at him like that. No, Mina’s got the flu, I had to send her home.”

“So…?”

“So I need you to make lunch. _Please._ I know you don’t want to and if it wasn’t an emergency, I wouldn’t ask. Derek. Please.” 

He nodded. “Okay.”

She blinked at him, mouth hanging open. “O-okay?”

“It’s my business, too,” he snapped. “I said I’d help you. I’m changing the menu,” he added for the hell of it. “I’m not making tomato soup, this isn’t a fucking Campbell’s commercial.” 

“Watch your language,” she said faintly.

Derek surveyed the pantry and the refrigerator, then wandered to the basement to check what else they had. He pointedly did not glance at the darkroom. He grabbed what he needed and went back upstairs, planning the meal in his head.

Cutting, chopping, and peeling kept him busy; he texted Isaac a heartfelt apology and a plea for ingredients, while working on the sides. Thankfully, Mina had a store of apples, so he made apple chips to go with the grilled chicken paninis, then rooted around until he found some potatoes. Baked potato soup would be a nice warming food, and it wasn’t _tomato soup._

He was finishing the pomegranate seed and wild rice salad at noon when someone came into the kitchen. He swung around, ready to snarl at whoever it was that he was nearly done, and froze. He felt his eyes narrow. “Where have you been?” he barked. 

Stiles stared at him blearily. “My room is paid up for another month and a half. That doesn’t mean I have to be in it twenty-four/seven,” he said tiredly. 

“I’m not cleaning up after you if you decide to stay out all night.”

Stiles stared at him and Derek realized how tired and rumpled he looked. His shoulders hunched in while he watched. “Fine,” he muttered, stalking past him to the basement door. His hands shook as he fumbled with the lock. 

Derek stared after him. He replayed the conversation in his head and admitted that he _may_ have been a little harsher than necessary. Maybe. 

He thought of the exhausted, defeated look in Stiles’s eyes and felt guilt twist his gut. Okay, so he’d been a massive, raging dick. It was one thing to butt heads with someone; it was another to kick someone when they were down.

Laura came in as he put the finishing touches on the guests’ lunches. “This is amazing. You’re the best, thank you so much. You’re free to go,” she added. “I can clean up in here, and I’ll order pizza for dinner. I’ll figure out breakfast lat-”

He shook his head. “I’m not done in here. I’ll do dinner and clean up, too,” he promised.

She gaped at him. “Okay, who are you?”

He shoved the large salad bowl at her. “Just go, before the soup gets cold.”

She left muttering about pod people and foil hats.

Derek rolled his eyes and started lining spices up on the counter.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles slammed the door of the darkroom, fuming. He was already stressed enough; he didn’t need some stuck up housekeeper lecturing him like a teenager who stayed out past curfew. _Asshole._

He checked the pictures he’d left on the drying trays, carefully removing them and placing them in a neat pile on the counter. He had too much going on to _care_ what Derek thought. He’d just wanted to come down here and get his pictures without anyone noticing him. He wasn’t going back up now. He’d just develop some of the photos he’d taken on his drive. Maybe by the time he was done, Derek would be out of the kitchen. 

What was he even doing in the kitchen anyway? He had nothing to do in the kitchen. Maybe he was avoiding doing the laundry. 

Stiles got caught up in his work. It was so satisfying, watching the image emerge, and doing this made him feel normal again. Doing this, he could forget everything else; it was so easy to fall back into the familiar rhythm. He knew every step here, every in and out of the equipment and chemicals, what to do if something didn’t go according to plan, how to fix any mistakes. 

He had several photos on drying racks by the time a knock disturbed him. He huffed, but since all of the pictures were drying, it was safe enough to open the door. He covered the stop bath and opened the door a crack. “Oh. You learned how to knock.” 

Derek made a face. “Could you come out?” he muttered. 

Stiles didn’t want to. But he couldn’t hide in the darkroom forever. He grabbed the stack of photos he’d finished completely and stepped out, closing the door behind him. 

Derek looked either embarrassed or pissed, he couldn’t tell. He was holding a plate of steaming food. “I—you don’t eat enough, and I thought since you were out all night, you hadn’t eaten lunch,” he mumbled gruffly. 

Stiles glanced at the plate; it looked like roasted chicken and asparagus, with extremely cheesy macaroni beside it. He looked at Derek’s face and sighed. He knew an apology when he saw one, and even if he thought he should, he just didn’t have the energy to hold a grudge. “Looks great. Thanks.” 

Derek looked relieved. “There’s no one in the kitchen, if you want to eat up there.”

“Sure.” He followed him up the stairs, tapping the pictures against his leg with nerves. 

Derek set the plate on the tiny kitchen table and stepped away. He had a plate of food for himself on the counter. He looked ready to bolt with it as he picked it up.

Stiles wondered how someone so _bad_ with people ended up running an inn with his sister. He wouldn’t ask; asking led to conversations, and conversations led to being asked in return. He didn’t have answers he could give anyone. He sat at the table and tried to smile. “You going to make me eat alone?”

Derek relaxed and smiled back, just a little. He sat across from him.

Stiles set his pictures away from both of their plates and picked up his fork to try the macaroni first. “Did you make this?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, watching Stiles scoop some up.

“Oh my _god_. This is so good.” He took two more bites, then tried the chicken and moaned. “Oh my god.” He looked up and grinned. “I can’t remember the last time I had food this good.” He winced. “Don’t tell Mina that.”

Derek smirked. “No promises.”

Stiles was enjoying the food too much to call him a dick. “God, this is good. No wonder you’re such a terrible housekeeper,” he teased. “You’re meant to be a chef.” 

Derek dropped his gaze to his own plate. “Thanks,” he mumbled, but he didn’t sound happy. He nodded at the stack of pictures. “Can I look?”

“Sure, if you want. Just…by the edges, please.” He focused on his food. So Derek didn’t like talking about his cooking. That was fine. Stiles was a pro at avoiding personal queries. 

Derek picked up the stack carefully, showing more respect than Stiles had expected. He flipped through them slowly, considering each one. He paused at one of the front of the inn, tilting his head. 

Stiles caught his breath, bracing for an insult.

He flipped to the next picture and smiled widely.

Stiles let out his breath in surprise. 

Derek Hale had a beautiful smile. “I like this one.” He turned it so Stiles could see it; he smiled, too. 

It was a shot of Laura and Isaac; Laura was standing behind the check-in desk while Isaac leaned against the front of it. They were both laughing, and Stiles hadn’t been able to pass up the moment. 

“That is a good one. You three are quite photogenic,” he said lightly. “Makes my job easier.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” he said after a beat, as if he’d decided against asking questions.

Stiles was glad. “Thanks. I enjoy it.” Most of the time, anyway. 

Derek nodded, still studying the picture. “Could I…” He cleared his throat. “Could I get a copy of this?”

Stiles smiled to himself. “Sap,” he teased. “You can have that one. They’re your family,” he said with a shrug. 

“Thank you,” Derek said softly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii. I'm gonna be posting 3x a week now because I honestly want to get to the plot with posting lol. Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays until we're done. <3 Hope you enjoy!

Derek was obsessing. He knew he was, but he couldn’t help himself. Once it became clear that the blizzard wasn’t coming quite yet—it had snowed a foot already, and they were calling for _at least_ two more before the blizzard blew in—Stiles seemed to change; he became twitchy and somehow _jumpier_ , if that was possible. He paid for another month and every other week, he’d leave overnight, or sometimes longer, for “a drive”. 

“He just likes traveling,” Laura said, exasperated, when Derek mentioned _again_ how weird it was. She was staring at a set of mixing bowls but hadn’t done anything with them. She usually didn’t.

“Then why does he keep extending his stay here?”

“Beats me. The company is terrible.” She went to the fridge, still eyeing the bowls, and grabbed a bottle of juice. She twisted the cap off. “It’s a good thing, though. He likes it here, we make money.” She shrugged and took a drink of her juice.

“I guess,” he muttered. 

Mina came into the kitchen looking upset. 

“What’s wrong?” Laura asked immediately.

Derek frowned, because Mina was generally cheerful, except when she was cheerfully angry. 

“My sister was in a car accident; she’s alright, but she broke her right arm and leg, and she really needs some help-”

“Go,” Laura said. “You’re going. Come on, I’ll help you pack.” 

“With the blizzard coming, our parents can’t make it,” Mina continued, looking fretful. “I’d have to stay with her for a while.”

“Of course. Derek and I can handle everything here. Don’t worry about it,” she added firmly. 

Mina glanced at Derek anxiously. “But the cooking-”

“I can take care of it.” He shrugged. “Family’s more important. Tell your sister we hope she heals well.”

Mina promptly burst into tears and hugged him, then Laura. 

Laura made soothing sounds and led her out of the kitchen.

Derek rubbed his eyes and checked the time. He still had enough time to throw together breakfast for the people who were renting the blue and violet rooms. Two couples, very cheerful and chatty and _nosy. _Derek wasn’t surprised Stiles had fled for a “drive” after their arrival.__

__He made omelets and waffles, forgoing style for speed. The food was ready by nine and none of them were aware of the delay. He served it with an uncomfortable smile, but none of them seemed to notice._ _

__“Hey.” Laura stopped him before he could retreat into the kitchen. “I’m going to drive Mina home and help her pack. I have Isaac handling the phone. You good?”_ _

__“Yeah. I’ll get started on lunch.”_ _

__“Thanks. We have a reservation for the celadon room, but they’re arriving after five. I should be back by then.”_ _

__“No problem. Seriously. I won’t have time to piss anyone off, I’ll be cooking and prepping meals for the week.”_ _

__She hugged him around the neck. “Thank you. I’ll pick up groceries.”_ _

__He hugged her back, then nudged her away. “Go. Isaac and I can handle it for a few hours.”_ _

__Since Isaac was better with people than Derek, he left him to it—with Stiles out, there were only four guests—and stayed in the kitchen. He poked around and found Mina’s menu plan; soup for lunch, hmm. He could work with that. He looked at the clock and calculated how much time he had. It’d take just over two hours to make eight bread bowls, plus the soup and salad he was putting together in his head. He had time._ _

__He wasn’t great at baking bread, but he knew how. Plus, he’d just kill anyone who complained._ _

__While the dough was rising, Derek got to work on the soup._ _

__Isaac poked his head in, looking grim. “Snow’s coming down. Laura’s taking Mina to the airport and should be back soon.”_ _

__“Okay, thanks.”_ _

__He nodded. “Is that lunch?”_ _

__“Yes.” After a long silence, Derek rolled his eyes and said, “It’s for bread bowls.”_ _

__“ _Yes,_ ” he hissed. “I mean, thanks. Uh, I’m gonna go show the guests the game room.”_ _

__Laura returned just after lunch, and Stiles returned moments after her. Derek gave them both a bowl of soup and a salad, and joined them at the kitchen table._ _

__Stiles looked bone tired, picking at his salad after a murmured “thanks”._ _

__Derek tried to study him without being obvious. Where did he _go_ , and why didn’t he sleep? He knew why Laura couldn’t sleep, and thought he should back off if it was anything like her reason. He grimaced. _ _

__“I grabbed a ton of groceries. The storm is moving in fast, and I didn’t want us to be stuck here with basically nothing. We should be set until it’s safe to drive at least.”_ _

__“Thank you.”_ _

__Laura nudged Stiles lightly. “Why don’t you try the soup? It’s got it all—broccoli, cheddar, bacon.”_ _

__He smiled wanly and tried it. “Very good,” he murmured. He lowered his head, as if his exhaustion was physically weighing him down. He finished his food in silence and excused himself._ _

__Laura tapped her fork against her plate. “We have got to get him to eat more.”_ _

__Derek nodded absently, still staring at where Stiles had left. He looked back down, frowning. “Well, he seems to eat when I cook.”_ _

__Laura grinned and nudged his foot with hers. “ _Everyone_ eats when you cook.”_ _

__He didn’t react to the compliment. “I’m making salmon for dinner. And probably a salad and bread. I made too much dough for the bread bowls.”_ _

__“Perfect.”_ _

__He smiled._ _

__

__The blizzard blew in overnight; the snow was so deep that the government had issued a warning not to drive unless it was an absolute emergency. Everyone was stuck at the inn, so Laura opened up the game and entertainment rooms, and kept music playing in the sitting room almost constantly._ _

__“The radiator is acting up,” Isaac said. He looked frustrated and flustered. “I don’t know why! It was working fine!”_ _

__“That’s okay. This is the coldest winter we’ve had since we opened,” Laura reminded him. “It’s probably acting up because of it. We’ll just keep the fire going.”_ _

__Derek shuddered._ _

__“Can you go get some firewood from the shed?” She folded her hands under her chin. “ _Please?_ ”_ _

__He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He went to his room for extra layers; the wind had died as the day had gone on, but it was still painfully cold outside, and who knew when the wind would pick back up._ _

__He found Stiles staring out the side door, camera in hand._ _

__“I’ve seen a ton of snow,” he said when he caught Derek frowning at him. “But as a kid, we never got any, so I’ve always been fascinated by it.” He turned back to the glass, his expression wistful._ _

__“Can I get by? I have to go get firewood,” Derek said gruffly, trying to hide how charmed he was. It was _stupid_. Grown ass adults should know how dangerous blizzards and snow storms could be._ _

__Stiles turned, eyes wide. “Could I come with?”_ _

__Derek shrugged._ _

__“Thanks! One second.” He ran to his room._ _

__Derek leaned against the wall, expecting to be waiting at least five minutes while Stiles put on layers. He felt a glower come over his face when Stiles returned with an unzipped coat over his sweater, a skullcap, and gloves._ _

__“Thanks for waiting. Do you have to cut down some trees for wood?”_ _

__Derek made himself snort. “No, we do that in the summer, and store it in the woodshed until we need it.”_ _

__“Yeah, I guess that makes more sense.” He had a different camera now, one that looked hardier, more able to handle the weather._ _

__Derek reached for the door, then glanced back, annoyed. “Zip your fucking jacket,” he muttered before stepping outside. The cold was like a slap to the face; he stood aside to let Stiles out and to let himself get used to it._ _

__“Whoa.”_ _

__He glanced over, expecting to see someone regretting all of their decisions; instead, he found Stiles staring at the snow with wonder and awe. He watched him for a moment, and wanted to watch him for even longer, but they could literally freeze. “Come on, shed’s this way.” He turned away and started walking. The snow was nearly to his knees. It did not make the walk any more pleasant._ _

__Stiles did, somehow, though Derek would never admit it, even under pain of death. He stopped to take pictures, muttering about lighting and shadows._ _

__Derek just saw frosted trees. He remembered the pictures Stiles had let him see. They were mostly of the land around the Mystic, places Derek had seen a thousand times since they’d opened, and yet something was different. The space seemed almost magical through Stiles’s lens, and Derek wondered if that was how he saw it, or his talent with the camera that made it so. Or if it was both._ _

__Watching him march determinedly through the snow to get a close up of icicles formed on a tree, Derek decided it must have been both._ _

__“You’re going to freeze.” Derek caught the back of his jacket before he could venture into the trees; he wasn’t surprised when Stiles jumped and spun around. He held his hands up. “If the wind kicks up again, visibility will go down, you can get lost.”_ _

__He nodded. “Right. Oh, _wow._ ” His eyes lit up. “Is the lake frozen?” He bolted before Derek could answer. _ _

__Derek followed him, since the woodshed was closer to the lake anyway. While he took pictures, Derek loaded the wheelbarrow with wood bundles. He didn’t want to make more than one trip, so he tried to fit as much as possible without them tipping out. Once it was full, he flipped a tarp over it and closed and locked the shed._ _

__He looked around and spotted Stiles at the edge of the lake; his heart jerked in his chest until he realized Stiles was just stamping his feet to keep warm, not stepping onto the ice. He scowled and went to get him. He stomped over, ready to tell him off-_ _

__Stiles turned and beamed at him, his face all blotchy pink and white from the cold. “The way the light is hitting the ice makes it look like a mirror.”_ _

__“It’s too thin to stand on. You shouldn’t get so close.”_ _

__“I won’t fall in.” He turned back and shifted his stance for a different angle._ _

__Derek saw his sneakers sliding and managed to catch his arm before he slipped. “You shouldn’t stand so close,” he repeated, yanking him back several steps._ _

__Stiles tried to straighten up, only to nearly send them into the snow._ _

__Derek caught both of his shoulders and glared when he felt him shivering. “You need to dress better.”_ _

__Stiles blinked at him. Then he laughed dryly. “The cold isn’t going to be what kills me.”_ _

__“It could.”_ _

__Stiles shook his head and carefully pulled out of Derek’s grasp. “Thanks.” He turned and stiffened, his gaze locked on something over Derek’s shoulder._ _

__He followed his gaze, frowning, but all he saw were a couple trees with some broken branches._ _

__Stiles slowly brought his camera up; this time as he took pictures, it felt different, like he didn’t care about the scenery. He took several, turning in a wide circle until he ended up facing Derek again. He jumped like he’d forgotten he was there. He lowered his camera and licked his lips. “Maybe we should go inside.”_ _

__Derek kept frowning at him._ _

__He smiled tentatively. “Thanks for the rescue. I’ve fallen through ice before, and I didn’t-”_ _

__Derek, temporarily out of his mind, ducked in and kissed him._ _

__His shivering stopped, mouth parting in surprise. He shuddered and sighed, leaning into it._ _

__Derek put his arm around his waist, drawing him closer in an attempt to warm him._ _

__Stiles’s hands caught at Derek’s jacket, holding tight._ _

__When Derek pulled back, Stiles tilted his head forward until it rested against Derek’s chest, eyes squeezed shut like he was hiding from something._ _

__Derek shook him gently. “What are you running from?”_ _

__He shook his head against Derek’s chest, still refusing to look at him._ _


	11. Chapter 11

Laura had a plan to get Stiles to eat more. She was implementing that plan in stages; first, heartier meals for all the guests. Then, frequent snacks. They would have him eating every two hours in no time. She just had to figure out a way to do it without him noticing and getting offended. And with Derek’s help.

Derek was a key part of the plan, and she knew he didn’t hate Stiles as much as he pretended to.

She frowned, tapping her pen against her desk. Something had changed with Derek; he was still as ornery and suspicious as ever, but in the past week, it’d seemed more for show than anything. Maybe the piles of snow had mellowed him, or he was too tired to be angry all the time.

Laura made a note in her planner to figure out what was going on with him, then glanced at the clock and grimaced. One in the morning after her second full day awake. It was time. She turned and glared at her bed. She’d taken a sleep aid two hours ago, but knew she’d fight it off if she let herself.

She changed into pajamas and switched off the light. “Okay,” she whispered to her bed, because there was no one to hear, “if you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. I’ll get new sheets.” She crawled under the blankets and set her cheek against the pillow. She had several different kinds from years of trying to convince her stupid brain to sleep; it hadn’t worked, but at least she had a variety now.

She didn’t know when she slipped from grumbling about not being tired to choking on smoke, but her dream was as vivid as ever, smoky and lit with flames. The sleep aid made it hard to free herself from the sticky tendrils of the nightmare; when she finally did, she sat up, one hand fisted against her chest, the other clumsily wiping tears from her face. She clambered out of bed. “That wasn’t very nice,” she sniffled, knowing she was being ridiculous. She went to the reading chair beside her window and curled up in it, pressing her face to her knees. She stayed like that until her tears stopped. Then she grabbed her phone and dialed blindly. 

“ _Laura. Are you alright?_ ”

“Yes. Sorry to call so late, Uncle Peter.” She cleared her throat to try to hide her congestion. “I couldn’t sleep, and thought I’d check in.”

He was quiet a beat. “ _I see. How is the inn?_ ” His voice was stiff. He hadn’t wanted them to open it; he’d wanted them to come live with him, somewhere far away from where most of their family had died. 

“It’s good. We got almost three feet of snow last week.” She tucked her legs under her and shifted her phone to the other ear. “We’ve got four guests right now. There’s this one…” She told him about Stiles, though she didn’t mention his name. “And I guess I just…I feel like he needs help.”

“ _Maybe, but you should be careful. If he’s in trouble, it might be bigger than you should handle. You can’t save everyone._ ”

She made a low wounded noise.

He inhaled sharply. “ _Laura-_ ” 

“No, it’s okay. You’re right, I—I can’t save everyone. I’ll be careful, Uncle Peter, I promise.” 

“ _I’m going to visit. Make a reservation for me in a couple months, please._ ”

“You don’t need a reservation.” She closed her eyes, trying to picture her calendar. “You don’t have to visit. I know you don’t like coming to the states.”

“ _I really don’t, but I like visiting you two. This would be easier if you’d have moved to Belize like I suggested._ ” 

She laughed. “Colorado is just as nice.”

He scoffed. “ _Colorado just got three feet of snow. Reserve a room for me,_ ” he repeated, and hung up. 

She sighed and set her phone on her knee. While she and Derek had fled California, Peter had fled the entire continent; he’d always had an ear for languages, and had no trouble settling in Athens, Greece. He’d offered to teach Laura and Derek, but Laura couldn’t imagine running that far away. If she’d lost Derek, too, she would have. But she had one of her siblings left; Peter didn't. She didn’t blame him for leaving. 

She sat for a while, aching for her lost family, before deciding she’d might as well be useful while she was awake. With Derek cooking in Mina’s place, Isaac and Laura had been splitting the housekeeping duties. The laundry probably needed changing.

She tried to keep quiet—there was no point in waking Derek up yet—as she crept down the hall. She pulled the towels from the dryer, grimacing at them as she began folding. Each room had towels to match the color, but there were also tons of white towels as extras. 

She hummed as she folded; the inn had a silence that settled over it when no one was awake that she couldn’t handle.

A whimpering sound distracted her. She frowned and froze, listening.

Another whimper, followed by the squeak-thump of someone tossing and turning in their sleep.

Laura eyed the wall; it really _was_ thin if she could hear Stiles having a nightmare on the other side. She went to the hallway and stood outside of his door. 

He whimpered and cried out, gasping, “Please _stop_ ,” while she listened. 

She twisted the towel she was holding, her heart breaking for him. She decided against waking him, remembering Derek’s bloody nose, and retreated back to the laundry room. It wasn’t long before she heard a muffled shout, and then nothing. She kept folding, troubled.

By the time the towels were folded and stacked, she’d made up her mind: she was going to feed Stiles more if it killed her, and she was going to find out what he was running from. “Oh, jeeze,” she muttered, putting a hand to her forehead. Mina was right. She _was_ the parent friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to add this when I was posting but remember chapter 7? When Derek got a bloody nose after waking stiles up, while holding a bunch of warm, unfolded towels................?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only excuse I have for the short chapters is that they felt _right_ when I was writing it. Now I just kinda feel bad about it lol. Oh well, I hope it's enjoyable for you guys anyway. <3

Derek walked into the kitchen and froze. He blinked, as if that would change the scene before him. No luck.

Laura was baking. She had a rack of muffins cooling to her left while she whisked a large bowl tucked under her arm. She noticed him staring and scowled. 

“What are you _doing?_ ” he finally managed. 

“What does it _look_ like?” She pointed violently at the muffins. “That’s breakfast for the guests. I am _going_ to get Stiles to eat and you are _going_ to help me. I can’t cook meals and stuff, but I have _got_ the pastries. I made a menu. I just need your help.”

“Alright.”

She stared at him. “Really.”

He shrugged self-consciously. “Yeah.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Swear you aren’t going to do anything.”

“Like what?” he snapped, offended.

“Like give him food poisoning!”

“Excuse me?!”

“You don’t exactly like the guy,” she said slowly. “You can’t blame me. You agreed really easily.”

“Well, I-” He wasn’t sure how to explain without telling her things that were none of her business. “I’d never give someone food poisoning,” he snapped. “It isn’t the _food’s_ fault he’s so—so annoying. Plus, this was _your_ plan. I’m just trying to help you out.”

She relaxed. “Oh. Alright.” 

He nodded and stalked past her to the fridge. “I’m making some eggs to go with those muffins, then I’ll get started on lunch prep.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

He nodded, scanning the freezer. “What are you making?” he asked, thinking he could make something to complement it.

“Brownie melt cookies. I think he has a sweet tooth, but I have to test it. Brownie melt cookies are the best way,” she said with a nod.

Derek scowled. 

Laura’s brownie melt cookies were amazing. 

He bet Stiles would love them; it was cookie dough baked flat instead of into single cookies; then she baked brownie batter on top of it, carved out holes and drizzled melted chocolate into the centers. 

“What’re you going to make for lunch?”

“Philly cheesesteaks and some sides I haven’t decided on yet.”

She nodded, setting her bowl down. “That sounds great. I think I’ll make some whipped cream or frosting to go with the brownies, hmmm.”

Derek nodded, mouth pressing into a grim line. He’d make some homemade fries to go with the cheesesteaks. That would give him plenty of time to plan dinner, which would have to be spectacular. 

Stiles was going to love Laura’s brownies. 

Damn it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Stiles looked over the prints from the other day, trying to see what was most likely not there. He flipped to the next. There was no indication of people anywhere, except those broken branches. They hadn’t been broken before; he’d taken a picture of that same tree just minutes prior, so he knew he wasn’t being paranoid.

He hesitated when he noticed the impulsive picture he’d snapped of Derek. 

He’d been scowling as he’d loaded firewood into the wheelbarrow; the whole scene had been like something from a catalogue, the buff, angry man moving firewood with a snowy mountain backdrop. All it’d been missing was an axe and more plaid, or perhaps a big, burly truck to advertise. 

Stiles flipped to the next picture, and studied the lake. There was something on the far side, most likely a shadow, but possibly an animal or someone watching.

He shuddered and put the pictures face down on the desk. He rubbed his hands over his arms and reminded himself that if they’d found him, he’d know. The question was whether he was endangering anyone else by staying.

Someone knocked on the door, making him jump.

Well, he knew it wasn’t Derek. “Yeah?”

Laura opened the door. “Hey! I just made some of my brownie melt cookies and thought you’d like to try them.” She lifted the plate in her hands.

“Oh, uh…”

She smiled hopefully, wiggling the plate. It was piled high with two-toned cookie bars.

Stiles couldn’t refuse. “Um, okay. I’ll try one.”

She stepped into the room.

Derek stepped in behind her, and Stiles felt his cheeks flush. 

He made himself focus on Laura, who was holding out the plate. He smiled hesitantly and took one. “Thank you.”

She beamed. “Try it!”

He brought it to his mouth, even though his anxiety over the shadow across the lake had ensured he was no longer remotely interested in food. He took a bite and felt his eyes close of their own accord. “Oh my god,” he moaned. He took another bite and was pleasantly surprised when warm, liquid chocolate flowed into his mouth. “Jesus. You—how do guests ever check out?” He took another bite and couldn’t stop the noises he was making. He didn’t even _care._

She laughed delightedly. “I save baking for special occasions.”

He opened his eyes. “What’s the occasion?”

“Um, it’s National Cookie Day. Facebook says so.”

He snorted. “Okay. I don’t even care, this is, like, the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

She burst out laughing, smacking his shoulder. 

He grinned, proud of himself, and finished off the cookie. “Could I get another?”

“Absolutely!” She was practically glowing. “Take a couple, for later. They’ll be gone pretty quick.” 

“I don’t doubt it. Thank you so much. They’re really amazing.” He smiled up at her. “You’re awesome.”

She flushed with pleasure. “Thank you.” She set two more on a napkin on his desk. “Lunch will be ready in about an hour. We missed you at breakfast.” 

“Oh, yeah. I got caught up, and I slept late.” He shrugged. 

“Well, try to make it. Derek’s making cheesesteaks and I can promise you, they’re amazing.”

Stiles, remembering how uncomfortable Derek had gotten when he’d complimented his cooking last time, said, “That sounds nice, thanks,” in as even a voice as he could.

Derek was glowering when he looked at him. “Don’t be late. We aren’t your personal maids, and we aren’t going to bring your meals to your room.”

“What? I didn’t ask-”

“Good. Then show up on time.”

Stiles held his hands up. “Show up on time or I don’t eat. Got it.”

Laura kicked Derek’s leg, making him yelp and leap back a step. “He doesn’t mean that. There’s enough for everyone.”

Derek turned, opening his mouth to no doubt snap at her.

“It’s fine,” Stiles said quickly. “I’ll be at lunch. I don’t expect room service, and I didn’t ask for it.”

Laura nodded. “Alright. Sorry for Derek’s…everything. I have to go, I left Isaac with the phones. Enjoy your cookies!”

Stiles looked down at his lap. When Derek didn’t leave with Laura, he looked back up. “What’s your problem?”

Derek’s face darkened. “If you want to flirt with my sister, don’t do it right in my face.”

“ _What?!_ ” He leaped to his feet, outraged. “I was not flirting with her!”

He scoffed.

“I wasn’t! And even if I _was_ , who are you to tell me what to do?”

He stayed quiet, glaring. His cheeks were turning pink.

Stiles glared back. “ _You_ kissed _me_ , and then _you_ acted like nothing happened. That’s not my fault!”

“Well-” He snapped his mouth shut, jaw flexing. “Well, I want to kiss you again.”

Stiles stared at him. “You have a weird way of showing it.”

“You were making sex noises over my sister’s baked goods, I wasn’t taking that as a go-ahead,” he sneered.

Stiles threw his hands up. “They’re good brownies! Or cookies, or whatever they are.” He dropped his hands. “I’m not attracted to Laura. I was not flirting with her.” He jabbed his finger against Derek’s chest. “But you don’t get to tell me whether I can or not, so back off.”

Derek caught his finger, yanked him closer, and kissed him. 

Stiles wanted to resist on principle, but he couldn’t; he melted into it, using his other hand to grab a fistful of Derek’s sweater, holding him close.

Derek grunted into his mouth and hooked an arm around his waist, pinning them together.

Stiles was maybe a little addicted to the way it felt; he’d only done it twice, but that was more than enough. He pulled back enough for a breath, tipping his forehead against Derek’s jaw. “That was nice.”

Derek’s hand flexed against his side. “Yeah,” he agreed. He turned his head to rub his cheek against Stiles’s temple. 

It was odd and unbearably sweet. “I wasn’t flirting with Laura,” he said quietly. “I just really like her baked goods.”

“ _Everyone_ really likes her baked goods.” Derek brushed a kiss against Stiles’s temple, then his cheek and jaw, until he reached his mouth.

Stiles kissed him back and couldn’t help wondering if he was being selfish. If he was being dangerously stupid, kissing someone, getting close to someone. He probably was.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Hope you're all enjoying it; I know it's moving slowly.

Operation: Feed Stiles Until he Stops Looking Sickly was working better than Laura could have hoped. It helped that Derek wasn’t screwing around with the meal portion of the plan. He’d been getting increasingly elaborate and creative with the meals, which Laura thought was great. It was like he’d remembered how much he’d loved cooking before.

Now that part one of her plan was working, she decided it was time to get started on the _other_ part.

She waited until the rest of the house had settled down for the night and got onto her laptop. She started with just his name: Mieczysław Stilinski.

Of course, the first things that popped up were his awards and nominations, honorable mentions and articles he’d taken photos for.

Annoyed, she reorganized the results to show his most recent stuff. He was very talented, but none of this was telling her what he was so afraid of. His most recent published photos and awards were over a year old; after that, he’d dropped off the map, professionally speaking.

But _why?_ She chewed her thumbnail, flipping through the search results. Nothing was recent, but no one seemed to mention that he’d disappeared a year and a half ago. Maybe he had no family to notice he was gone.

She combined her search with “missing” to see what’d happen. 

More pictures, awards, articles about his pictures and awards…

At the top of the second page of results was a link to a tiny local newspaper for a town called Beacon Hills, California. The article was pathetically small, barely a story: “The missing person’s report for Mieczysław “Stiles” Stilinski, a local who made it big in the photography world, has officially been closed. The twenty-five-year-old was found to be alive and well in Tibet.”

“Okay…so where’s the report?” she muttered, and went back to Google.

She spent hours searching, but she couldn’t find any missing person’s reports or news articles about Mieczysław Stilinski. Anything that looked even somewhat promising (personal blogs, art blogs who were fans of his, people who knew him from school) led to closed websites, broken links, and redacted articles.

“Ugh!” She shoved away from her desk at four am. She had too much and way too little information now, and her brain was too cluttered to make sense of it.

She went to shower and dress for the day, then tiptoed to the kitchen. She had a few hours before Derek would be awake to make breakfast, and she’d always found it easier to organize her thoughts while baking.

She got out everything she needed to make pie—or _pies_ , she couldn’t pick a flavor and decided on many—and got to work.

What she knew now was that someone _had_ been looking for Stiles, but either he or whoever was after him had told them to stop. He’d been going full steam ahead with his photography career all the way up until a year and a half ago, when he’d all but dropped off the map. That was when the running began, she figured, so whatever happened then had caused this.

She knew that someone was trying to keep something hidden, but she didn’t know who or why. Why would Stiles give up a career he so clearly loved, and how had he ended up in Charming, Colorado?

 

Laura had five pies cooling on the counters by eight, and she’d run out of filling, things to make filling, and flavors. She had three pie crusts left.

“Whoa, hey, the whole inn smells amazing.” Isaac stopped at the table and gaped. “Holy pies, Batman,” he said weakly. 

She looked at the pies. “Yeah, I had some trouble sleeping. And I ran out of fruit.” She grimaced. 

“I have to go into town for Derek, want me to grab you some stuff?”

She smiled gratefully. “That would be great, thank you.”

“No problem! Make a list and I’ll get it before I leave.” 

“Thanks, Isaac.”

He whistled cheerfully. “No problem.” He left for the coat closet.

Laura stared at her pies. She just needed to dig deeper, until she found something.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a teensy bit early because I'm anxious--I hope you enjoy!

Stiles found himself checking the locks on all of the windows and both side doors. He didn’t know if he was being paranoid, which was very possible, or if he actually _was_ being watched. Which, again, was possible. He felt eyes on the back of his neck all the time, but this was heavier, like it was less in his head and more…outside of his window.

He checked the lock again, then pulled the shades; they blocked out light pretty effectively, despite being made of a shimmery silver material. He looked at the clock. It was getting late; he tried not to go outside after dark if he could help it. Too many things could happen in the dark; it was easier to see people coming in the day light.

He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth and decided to go check the rest of the locks around the building. He could stop by the kitchen on the way, see if there was any lemon meringue pie left after Laura’s weird pie kick the other day. He’d skipped dinner on accident while poring over a picture in which he’d either caught a very lost, very large bird, or the blurred form of a person moving out of the shot. He supposed it could be a hiker, and have nothing to do with him.

Either way, he’d skipped dinner, and he had been doing well lately, remembering to eat, so maybe he’d go and make sure Derek wasn’t fuming about it while getting some of whatever he’d cooked that smelled so delicious.

He opened his door and leaped back with a shout. “Oh my god, don’t _do_ that.”

Derek grimaced. “I was going to knock!”

“Sure you were.” He grinned anyway, to let him know that he wasn’t upset. He had to ignore the way his heart had begun to pound, the way his body thought he was supposed to be fleeing. He’d already mapped out an escape route if someone came for him through the door. “I was just coming to find you.”

His brows went up. “Oh?”

“To apologize for missing dinner. I was printing and got distracted.”

“That’s alright. Will you come with me?”

Stiles studied his face, but he just looked calm, if a little happier than he was used to seeing him. “Okay.”

Derek smiled. “Thanks.”

As they walked, Stiles elbowed him lightly. “So you aren’t mad that I missed dinner? I was five minutes late yesterday and you nearly took my head off.”

He looked guilty. “You should eat more,” he muttered. 

Stiles shrugged. “I know.” He did. He was somewhere relatively safe, with three meals a day readily available, plus a ton of baked goods to spare. He should be eating as much as he could for when he couldn’t risk a stop.

Derek led the way toward his, Isaac, and Laura’s end of the hall; Stiles knew the library and game room were also over this way, but he generally avoided places where bored guests gathered. Derek passed his own room, then Laura’s, and turned into the library.

There was a printed sign on the door: ‘Staff Only Until Further Notice. Thank You for Your Patience.’

Stiles frowned, but Derek didn’t explain, just opened the door, went in, and stepped aside. 

A table had been set up in the middle of the room, set with two plates of food, a chilling bottle of wine, two glasses, and plastic tea lights.

Stiles lifted a brow. “Are you trying to impress someone?”

Derek leaned in and kissed him, slow and gentle in a way that made his knees go weak. “Yes,” he said simply. He shut the door once Stiles had stepped inside. “It’s just bourbon pecan chicken, stir fried vegetables, and potatoes, but I thought maybe you’d like eating together.” He gestured at the tea lights. “I don’t like candles very much, sorry.” 

Stiles smiled. “Yeah, an open flame near all these books doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

Derek winced. “No,” he murmured, “it doesn’t.”

Stiles redirected his attention to the table after a moment. “This looks terrific. You’re awesome, thank you.” He brushed his fingers over the back of Derek’s hand, suddenly feeling shy.

It was worth it when Derek grinned at him.

The meal was delicious; he tried not to gush too much about it, still remembering the way Derek had closed up over the chicken and macaroni. It was impossible to be completely silent about it, but thankfully, the mild compliments he did give were well-received.

He was privately a little shocked by how much he enjoyed Derek’s company. Apparently, when he wasn’t being an abrasive jerk, Derek Hale was a pretty nice guy. He was funny and sweet, and surprisingly perceptive of when he broached a topic Stiles was uncomfortable talking about. Even more surprising, he changed the subject when he noticed.

“Laura made dessert,” he said after they’d finished their meal. 

Stiles guessed, “Pie?” and snickered when Derek nodded solemnly. 

“It’s French silk pie, I don’t even know how she had time to make it.” He shrugged and brought the plates over. “I suggested cupcakes, but apparently that isn’t very romantic.”

“Ah, not to her. I love cupcakes.” He grinned. “I like the frosting.”

He snorted. “I’ll be sure to let her know.”

Stiles took a bite of his pie. He’d only had half a glass of wine—he wasn’t big on drinking—but he felt warm all over, his skin buzzing pleasantly. He wanted to bite Derek’s bottom lip. If he was being selfish and stupid, he’d might as well dive in head first. 

Derek smiled quizzically. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Stiles lifted his brows and licked his bottom lip.

“Finish your pie,” he ordered, flushing. 

Stiles finished his pie, and Derek finished his; Stiles told him to leave the dishes for later, and Derek dragged him down the hall to his room.

It was bigger than the guest rooms, and more lived in, decorated with earth tones and a single framed photo.

Stiles was surprised to find it was the one of Laura and Isaac that he’d given him. “You hung it.”

“It’s a nice picture.” Derek seemed content to let him look around.

Stiles was not. He turned and pulled him into a kiss, holding the front of his shirt in his fist.

Derek pulled back enough to whisper, “You don’t have to hold on so tight. I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles believed him, but it wasn’t him he was worried about. “Keep kissing me.”

Derek undressed him carefully, skimming reverent fingers over the ridges of his ribs, the scars on his side, the dips of his hips. He followed his path with his mouth, grazing his teeth lightly against his skin.

Stiles wasn’t quite so graceful; he yanked Derek’s shirt over his head and fumbled with his pants. He didn’t want to give himself time to change his mind. He wanted this, he wanted Derek, and they enjoyed each other. They were allowed to enjoy this. 

Derek caught his hands and pulled him closer, kissing him softly until his urgency drained away, leaving only the deep ache of want.

It was easy to move to the bed, to keep their hands on each other while they kissed. 

By the time Derek broke away to reach for his bedside table, Stiles was shivering and dazed.

“Do you have a preference?” Derek asked, digging around.

Stiles frowned, then remembered the logistics of this whole thing. He smiled, amused at himself, and said, “Either.” 

Derek glanced back at him, eyes raking from his flushed cheeks to the way he was gripping the sheets like he was afraid he’d float away. He flicked a condom at him. “Let’s do it this way.”

Stiles grinned and leaned in, kissing him until he felt his hands fumble the bottle of lube he’d been holding. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “You?”

Stiles ran an appreciative hand down Derek’s back, over the curve of his ass. “Um, yes. Absolutely.”

Derek shivered. “Great.” Then he tackled Stiles to the bed, making him squawk, then laugh.

They moved like they’d done this together a thousand times—fast, practiced, eager—but there was still that shivery feeling of newness—terrified, nervous, excited, being intimate with someone new, trust and yet not—that Stiles had missed.

Derek was unexpectedly patient, letting Stiles explore him and memorize the feeling of his skin under his palms, under his lips. He was less patient when Stiles slid inside of him, rolling his hips and grabbing at Stiles’s arms, muttering curses and prayers and sometimes just “ _Stiles._ ”

After, they sprawled side by side on the bed. Derek was heaving for breath, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. 

Stiles stared at the ceiling, dazed. He hadn’t done that in a while.

Derek rolled his head to the side so he could see him. “So.” He sucked in a breath. “You were a little pent up, then.”

Stiles surprised himself by bursting out laughing. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

Derek didn’t seem to be in a rush to deal with the dishes. He used the corner of one of the blankets piled on the bed to clean himself up, then Stiles, and kicked it off the bed. He hooked an arm around Stiles’s waist and curled down, resting his cheek against his chest. He was asleep within five minutes.

Stiles brushed a hand through his hair, helplessly touched by the way he sighed and smiled in his sleep. He kept stroking his hair. It was kind of amazing how easily Derek could fall asleep. Even before everything, Stiles had had trouble. He ran his thumb over Derek’s cheek.

Derek muttered something and his arm tightened, drawing Stiles closer. 

He kissed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. It was going to break his heart a little bit when he had to leave.

A couple hours of sleeplessness had him gently extracting himself from Derek’s grasp and finding his clothes. He went to the library and gathered up their dishes, taking them to the kitchen.

Laura was at the table. “Hey.” She waved limply.

He put the dishes in the sink. “Hey.” He frowned.

She was morosely eating an apple pie straight from the tin. She noticed him watching and gestured. “Grab a fork.”

He did, and sat across from her. “Why are you upset?”

She sighed, digging her fork into the crust. “I was trying to find something. Got annoyed when I couldn’t.” She glanced at his face, ate a bite, and asked, “You?”

He shrugged.

They ate the pie in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing style is so different in this fic than my others that it's making me anxious lmao


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles had put on weight. Derek noticed when he was telling Derek about some photos he’d taken earlier in the day. He looked less sickly than he had when he’d arrived. He wasn’t as pale either, and he’d been sleeping more.

Derek checked the carnitas he’d put in the oven to broil. He definitely knew he’d been sleeping more, because he woke up before him more often than not lately. 

It looked good on him. He looked healthy, his eyes bright as he told Derek that the doe nearly let him touch her.

Derek took the carnitas out when they looked crisp enough and checked the rice. “That’s impressive. She’s been hanging around for a year, maybe more. She never lets anyone that close.”

Stiles grinned. “Well, they obviously aren’t as awesome as I am.”

Derek snorted. “Obviously.” He poked around the cabinets for a moment, trying to decide what else to put with the carnitas. 

Most of the guests were gone as deep winter hit; there were occasionally a couple one nighters, and Laura had mentioned a reservation in a week or two, but for the most part, Derek was just cooking for Laura, Isaac, Stiles, and himself. It wasn’t terrible. 

Laura’s baking had been getting more elaborate, and Stiles always went _on_ about it, which never failed to make Derek grind his teeth.

It wasn’t that he was jealous of Laura and Stiles romantically—Derek believed Stiles when he said he wasn’t interested in her—but Derek was a good chef. He knew that. But Stiles never acted all that impressed by his cooking. He squared his shoulders. He’d just have to try harder. So Stiles was a hard-to-please palate; that just made it a challenge.

Stiles suddenly leaned up against his back, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “That smells so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. I love carnitas.” He kissed Derek’s cheek and leaned against the counter next to him.

Derek thought things were pretty great between them. Sure, they never went anywhere outside of the inn, but Stiles didn’t seem to want to, and Derek wasn’t much of a crowd person anyway. Besides, this way they were never far from a bed, and Derek liked the way Stiles looked, sprawled all satisfied and sweaty in his sheets. 

“Isaac’s running to town in the morning. Do you think he’d grab some things for me?”

“That probably depends on what you’re asking for,” Derek replied, amused. 

Stiles kicked his ankle lightly. “Just some chemicals for the darkroom. I should probably just stick to digital for a while.” He sighed wistfully.

“Write it down, he’ll grab it for you.”

He shrugged, looking distracted. 

They all ate dinner together at the dining table, since there were no guests, but for dessert, the two of them took their slices of cheesecake to Derek’s room. They got a little distracted, but the cake was still good, if a little melty, when they ate it naked on Derek’s bed. 

Stiles nudged his thigh with his foot. “How’d you guys end up owning an inn?” He sucked the chocolate off his fork. 

“Where’d that come from?” Derek busied himself with moving their plates to his desk. He’d deal with them in the morning.

He shrugged. “Dunno. I was just thinking. You don’t have to answer, it’s fine.”

Derek glanced at him; he was looking down at his lap, like asking was some terrible crime. He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “It’s okay. Um, about twelve years ago, our family…our whole family died in a house fire.” He clenched his jaw. He hated talking about this. It was easier to just forcibly _not_ think about it, to look forward instead of back. “Just Laura, myself, and our uncle made it out.”

Stiles inhaled sharply, but Derek couldn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the look of pity.

“We were going a little crazy, just sitting there, so we used the—the money,” his mouth twisted with distaste, “to build the inn, put a lot into charity, and Laura put the rest into savings. Uncle Peter moved to Greece to get away. He wanted us to go with him, but we couldn’t leave.” He shrugged when he felt Stiles staring at him. “Everyone has a tragic story somewhere, right?” He flicked a crumb off his knee, knew he was going to have to vacuum tomorrow. 

“Right,” Stiles murmured. “But that doesn’t make it any less terrible. Derek, I’m so sorry.” 

He nodded. “Yeah.” He tried to smile, but it might have come across as a grimace, considering the way Stiles winced. “I was going to be a chef like my father—Laura and I were going to open a restaurant together, actually—but I just couldn’t, after the fire. I think this is the most I’ve cooked since then.” He let out a heavy breath, blinking. He couldn’t believe he’d just told him that—or any of it, really. He tried to think of the last person he’d spoken to about the fire; just the therapist Laura had him seeing in the first few years after the fire. 

Stiles cupped his cheeks and kissed him, gently, on the forehead, the cheeks, then the mouth. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t have to tell me, but thanks. Thank you for sharing.” His eyes looked suspiciously shiny, but he dropped his gaze before Derek could see the tears well up.

Derek didn’t think too much of it; some people just cried easier than others. “Thanks for listening.” He felt weirdly light now, as if talking to someone who hadn’t known had lifted a weight off his shoulders. 

“Of course.” Stiles moved and grabbed his boxers and Derek’s sweats. He tossed the sweats at Derek and pulled on his shorts. “Lay down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going to cuddle.”

Derek lifted a brow. “We are?”

“Yes. Do as I say.” He flipped the blankets back.

“It’s only nine.”

“Which is a perfectly respectable hour to go to sleep, if we were going to sleep. However, we are not.” He climbed onto the bed and tugged.

Derek went where directed, too emotionally wrung out to fight. Besides, it wasn’t all that bad, having Stiles curl around his back, arms locked tight around him. It was nice, to hold someone and to be held. It was even nicer, he realized with a shiver of fear, that it was Stiles holding him. 

He stared into the dark, listening as Stiles spoke quietly about inconsequential things like how he was going to get a close up of the doe and if Isaac had a ladder to change the lightbulbs in the sitting room ceiling fixture. He turned suddenly, making Stiles jump.

“What?” His expression was easy to see, confusion and concern. 

Derek kissed him. “I’m not tired,” he whispered, which wasn’t true. He was exhausted, but he wanted this, wanted to be distracted, and he wanted Stiles. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “I think maybe you’re still upset-”

“So?” Derek kissed him again. He was maybe a little obsessed with the way Stiles gasped into his mouth when he did something he liked, and the way he grasped at Derek’s shoulders like he thought he was going to slip away. He liked how he bit his lip to muffle himself all the way up until Derek was inside him, and then he couldn’t stop talking, gasping out pleas and praises. He hadn’t found much he didn’t like about Stiles, and that was terrifying.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy! Angst ahoy! <3 lmk what you think.

_They weren’t watching anymore. The inn was on fire. Hands held him on his knees and forced him to watch while the Mystic burned. Derek and Laura beat against the doors and windows but they were thorough. They’d sealed them in already, they-_

“Stiles, Stiles, it’s just a dream, it’s okay.”

Stiles shuddered his way out of the nightmare, saw Derek’s face, and lurched forward. He pressed his face into his chest, trying to keep him from seeing the tears. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” he sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

Derek murmured at him, rubbing his hands up and down his back; he was obviously confused, but trying his best to soothe Stiles’s hysterics. 

Stiles clung to him and called himself a monster. Derek and Laura had already lost so much. How could he justify staying here and endangering them? He should leave and never look back.

Derek reached away; a lamp turned on. He leaned back, tugging gently until he could see Stiles’s face. He wiped his tears, frowning worriedly.

Stiles grabbed his wrists and held on.

“Let’s watch a movie,” Derek said.

He stared. “What?”

He shrugged self-consciously. “I figured you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. So let’s watch a movie.” 

Stiles watched, dazed, as Derek set up a movie on his laptop. 

He wrapped Stiles up in a blanket and pulled him back against his chest while it played. 

It took half of the movie for him to stop shaking. 

They watched movies until the sun came up. Derek regretfully told him he had to make breakfast. 

“That’s okay. I think I’m going to.” Stiles had to stop to swallow, his throat was so dry and raw from his crying jag. “Think I’m gonna walk around and take some pictures.” 

Derek paused while getting dressed. He smiled, amused. “Don’t you have every angle of the property by now?”

He made himself laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

He shrugged. “Alright. Just don’t forget to eat. I’m making stuffed biscuits for breakfast.”

“Sounds awesome. I won’t.” He fiddled with the blankets, trying to avoid Derek’s gaze.

That became impossible when he climbed back on the bed and kissed him.

Stiles decided a distraction wasn’t a terrible thing, and let Derek kiss him until the last vestiges of his nightmare were banished. Breakfast could be a little late. 

Once outside by himself, just him, his camera, and the snow-burdened trees, he felt like he could breathe easier. He did his usual long, slow walk around the property, taking pictures as he walked. 

No one knew he was here. Running before he knew there was actually any danger would be stupid. He’d be throwing himself into their sights. Of course, if it’d keep the Hales safe, he’d do it anyway. But if they caught him and thought either of them had seen the pictures, they might go after them anyway. 

He had to take some even breaths to get a clear shot. 

He focused, shifted his weight, and froze. 

His heart hammered. He slowly lowered the camera, but he couldn’t quite see with just his eyes. He took four rapid shots.

There was someone across the lake, just standing there. 

Stiles’s breaths came in unsteady puffs of fear. He couldn’t see clearly enough to tell if they were facing him or away, looking at the inn or the lake, if they were someone he recognized or a stranger. 

He forced himself to breathe; he stepped closer and took two more pictures. Then he retreated inside, bolting into his room and locking the door. 

He paced while the pictures printed, then snatched them up as soon as they were done. His hands shook as he flipped through them. 

Whoever it was, they were wearing a ball cap, concealing their face, but they were definitely turned toward the inn. 

“No, no, no,” he murmured, flipping to the next. The light changed just slightly, or whoever it was had moved; they could have been facing him in this one. He dropped the prints on the desk and paced away, yanking his hands through his hair. 

Okay. Precautions. He may not have to leave. He’d head south today, then come back from the eastern route, pack his stuff, and head north. Maybe he’d be able to pay someone to fly him—anywhere.

He pressed his palms into his eyes. First, he’d let himself be seen in New Mexico. Then he’d return and decide what he should do next. He’d had false alarms before. 

He didn’t want to leave forever. 

He wiped his face and knew that meant he should. It wasn’t fair to them.

Stiles collected himself before he left his room. He left his usual note on the desk, and he’d grabbed only the bare minimum. He didn’t want them to question him more than usual. 

He found Derek in the kitchen.

“Laura’s making black forest cake later,” he said. “I’ve got some of the biscuits ready, but not…you okay?”

“Y-yeah.” He hated that Derek clearly saw through him. He shouldn’t know him that well yet. He shook his head. “Maybe not. I’m going on a drive. I’ll be back.”

Derek stopped what he was doing—kneading dough it looked like?—and turned to face him completely. “Why? What’s the matter?”

He shook his head again, horrified and furious to find his eyes filling. “It’s—it’s nothing, I have to go.” 

Derek grabbed his arm before he could flee. “No. What’s wrong? Let me help you.”

“You _can’t!_ ” He froze, stunned at how the words had wrenched themselves loose. He forced himself to relax. “You can’t,” he said, more calmly, “because there’s really nothing. I just need to get some air.” And the clock was ticking. If he left now, whoever was watching would see him leave and would follow, if they were watching him. 

Derek tightened his grip.

“Please,” Stiles whispered, trying to tug his arm free. “Please. I’ll explain when I get back, please, just—let go.” He hated himself, but he made himself wince the next time he tugged on his arm. “You’re hurting my arm.”

Derek dropped him like he’d been burned, but he didn’t move or speak otherwise, just watched as Stiles fled.

Stiles promised himself he _would_ be back, and he’d make it up to him.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is taking forever...................................I'm thinking about switching to two chapters, three days a week. So instead of posting chapter 19 on Sunday, I'd post 19 & 20\. Then Wednesday 21 & 22, etc. But that's probably too fast....I just want the whole story to be up already argh <3 I'm not sure. If I make any changes to the posting schedule I will bold it in an author's note.

Laura was generally a pretty professional person when it came to the inn, she thought. She’d never gotten so _involved_ in a guest, but with Stiles, she found herself way over the line. 

He’d had “some kind of freak out”, Derek called it, and left for an overnight drive, as he was wont to do, but when he’d returned, his behavior was…odd.

No, she realized, not _odd_. But back to what it’d been when he’d first arrived. 

He was quiet and withdrawn, sleepless and pale, prone to staring blankly out windows.

She couldn’t figure out what was going on with him. What had changed? He’d been gaining weight, looking happy, even chatting aimlessly with her, Isaac, and Derek on occasion. 

Derek’s mood had plummeted as well; he was downright vicious, so much so that Laura did her best to keep him from the guests. 

Laura set down her whisk, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Stiles was losing weight scarily fast, actually; she began to wonder if maybe he was sick. Maybe he was _dying_.

She looked over her shoulder. She wanted to poke through his things, but that was a lawsuit waiting to happen, so she picked up her whisk again. She should back off, but she just couldn’t, not when he looked so haunted and, occasionally, broken. 

He had nightmares on the nights when he slept; she could hear him, his ragged sobs echoing clearly to her room before he woke himself up. She just wanted to help him.

Isaac came into the kitchen. “Hey, got the groceries. I saw Erica and Boyd,” he said, grinning as he set some bags on the table for unloading.

“Oh?” She listened with half an ear as he chattered about them. She wondered if she should make some cupcakes. Derek had said Stiles liked cupcakes, and she could do a variety of flavors, try to entice him to eat. 

Maybe he just needed cheering up.

“—oh, and some random guy was asking about Stiles.”

Batter flew when Laura whipped around. “ _What?!_ Who?”

Isaac’s eyes widened. “I don’t know, someone passing through.”

She set the whisk down before she could fling more cake against the cabinets. “Did you tell them anything?” she demanded. 

Isaac shook his head rapidly, shoulders hunched up. “No, that’s invasive and—dangerous.” 

Laura blew out a breath. “Sorry.” She held her arms out and gave him a tight hug. “Sorry. Here, I have some blueberry pie left.” She reached back and grabbed the tin. “Let’s finish it together, and you can tell me what they said.” 

He nodded and sat when she gestured at the table.

“So what did they say _exactly_?”

He shrugged. “They claimed they were looking for a friend of theirs, described Stiles to a T, then called him some, uh, unusual name. I told them I hadn’t seen him.”

Laura sighed. “Was that name…Mieczysław?”

He stared at her. “Yeah. Wow. I think I’d go by Stiles, too.”

She swore under her breath.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” he promised. “I know what that’s like…you know.” His gaze cut aside. “And they seemed kind of iffy…Everyone’s got a cell now. If they were friends of his, they could’ve just called.”

“That was a good thing. That’s great, really, thank you, Isaac. Thanks for telling me.”

“Sure. Should I tell Stiles?”

“No!” She held her hands up. “No, I’ll do it. Um, here, I’m going to go put this stuff in the basement.” She grabbed a case of soda and hurried downstairs. 

She set it aside and collapsed on top of the deep freezer. She covered her face. She must have brought those people here, looking for Stiles. But how? How had they known? Jesus, no wonder he was getting worse again. She had to fix this.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright let's get this show on the road. It's summer, I've got my hat on backwards, and it's time to fuckin party
> 
> I'm going to be posting **two chapters at a time, three times a week** because I'm ready for the whole story to be up. Like I get that part of the mystery is reading it in bits but I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE. Anyway, so here you go. Chapter 20 to follow immediately. The reason I usually try not to do this is I feel like people don't interact as much but as I said, I'm tired of waiting to tell the story lol. <3

“Move!” Derek snapped, throwing the kitchen door open.

Isaac leaped back in shock. “I was just turning it off like Laura asked. She said you were too-”

“I didn’t ask for help. I know how to make lunch,” he growled. “Get out of my way.”

“Yeah, like I was going to _stick around_ ,” Isaac scoffed. He slammed the door as he left. 

Derek glared at it. Now that he was alone, he had no one to vent his temper on. He yanked the oven door open and retrieved the sheet pans he’d been cooking lunch on.

He was putting corn on the cob rolled in tinfoil into the oven when Laura stalked into the kitchen.

“Hey.” She jabbed his shoulder. “You need to stop taking your pissy mood out on everyone around you.”

“I’m not in a pissy mood,” he snapped.

“Oh, yeah? Since I’m one of the people you’ve been pissing on, I say you are. Stop being a dick. I don’t care if you have to go break some branches or beat the ice off the fucking lawn mower, but get it together!”

“Or _what?_ ” he snarled. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to shove your belligerent ass into the lake, see if a frozen dip cools you the hell off.” She poked him in the chest. “Deal with the problem, or I’ll deal with it for you.” She turned and marched for the door. “And you’re doing the laundry!”

“Make me!” he shouted back, and instantly felt ridiculous. He glared at the food. Fine. Laura wanted him to deal with the problem? He’d deal with it right now. He just needed the corn to finish cooking and a damn plate. 

 

Derek all but kicked the door open when he got to Stiles’s room. He ignored his panicked yelp, striding past the scatter of pictures he’d dropped and slamming the plate on the desk. “Eat. Now.”

Stiles stood, glaring. “Stop bursting in without knocking! And I’m not hungry.”

Derek gritted his teeth. “Okay,” he said pleasantly. “Eat it or I’ll shove it down your throat.” 

Stiles’s face flushed, eyes flashing. “I’m. Not. Hungry. You have _no_ right to burst in here and tell me what to do. I don’t _care_ if we’re sleeping together, you don’t get to just come in here-”

Something thumped against the glass, and a shadow moved across the room.

Stiles jumped and spun around, backing up. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes wheeling in panic; his face went so white so quickly that Derek thought he was going to faint. 

He reached out. “Stiles, it’s just-”

He shook his head wildly and stumbled for the bed. He bent forward, hands curled over his head, and struggled to breathe. 

Derek crouched in front of him. “Stiles?”

He nodded, but didn't uncurl.

Derek waited, but didn’t touch him. When Laura first brought Isaac to them, he used to get a lot of panic attacks over seemingly little things. He still flinched and froze when glass shattered. 

When Stiles seemed to be breathing easier, Derek started talking. “It was just that doe that hangs around. She’s been getting bolder. Laura thinks she might be pregnant, which would be odd. She _has_ gotten fatter lately, though.”

Stiles sat up. His eyes were glazed when he looked at him, his face still pale. After a second, blood started running from his nose. “Fuck.” He jumped up and stumbled on shaky legs to the bathroom.

Derek hovered in the doorway, unsure of his welcome, until it became clear that Stiles couldn’t stop shaking enough to get the sink running. He grabbed a white towel from the rack and ran it under the water. “Lean forward,” he instructed quietly. 

Stiles did as told.

Derek cleared his throat while helping him clean up. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “For yelling and freaking you out. I was worried about you.” He realized he was mopping at Stiles’s face like a toddler and stepped back, embarrassed. He held the rag out. 

He took it. “Thanks.” He flipped it to a clean spot and held it up to his nose. “Laura’s gonna be mad that we stained the towel.”

Derek shrugged. “We’ll throw it out before she sees.”

Stiles dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I just—there’s…things. I can’t help it.” He set the towel on the edge of the sink and smiled a little. “The doe’s not pregnant. She’s been eating my food.” He winced. “Sorry.”

“You’re an idiot,” he sighed.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” he said again. He shuffled his feet and looked at Derek guiltily.

Derek stared back at him with mute horror. He was _in love_ with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! <3


	20. Chapter 20

Laura couldn’t stay properly mad at Derek, which was unfortunate. Not when she was busy freaking out about everything. Whoever was after Stiles was _connected_. It was the only thing that made sense, what with them realizing someone in the area had been looking him up, looking into his disappearance. 

She supposed it was possible that he’d been followed back from one of his drives, but if that were the case, they would’ve followed him back to the Mystic.

No, this, she was sure, was her fault. Somehow, they’d found out someone nearby had been looking into Mieczysław Stilinski’s disappearance, and they’d come running.

She gnawed on her lip. What if Stiles was running from the law? She shook the idea off. She trusted her gut; Stiles was a good guy, and he needed help.

She let out a breath and decided, grimly, that not only was she going to help him, she was going to protect him. Besides, she thought with a sigh, if she was the mom friend, she’d might as well lean into it.

“Hey, do you need anything from town? The washer needs a new hose,” Isaac said as he passed her room. 

“I’ll go,” she blurted. 

He blinked at her. “What?”

“I have some stuff I want to get, so I’ll pick up the hose for you.”

He frowned. “Okay…? If you’re sure? I don’t mind picking stuff up, I’ve been doing it for years.” He shrugged. 

“I know, but I need some air. I’m going stir crazy.” 

“Okay. Greg at the hardware place will have the hose set aside for us. Thanks.”

“No problem.” She grabbed her coat and slipped past him. She hoped she was right. But she’d drawn these people here, she’d endangered Stiles because of her prying. It was up to her to fix it. 

Charming was the smallest town Laura had ever seen in person. It had exactly one gas station, a grocery/clothing store, a post office, a hardware store/electronics store, a tiny, locally-owned café, and plenty of gossipy residents, even in the bitterly cold winter months. 

Laura took her time; she parked at the hardware store and bought the hose, chatting with Greg about Isaac. He’d been cheerfully trying to poach Isaac for his store for years. 

“Not a chance, but nice try.” She waved on her way out, and meandered over to the post office for some stamps. 

The grocery store turned out to be the place; she spotted two strangers browsing the papers the clerks kept near the checkouts. 

Laura gathered ingredients into a basket; she’d make baklava, to go with the spanakopita Derek had been grumbling about making. 

She was pretty sure baklava was Turkish, but they were neighbors. Plus, she just really wanted to have baklava, which was the perfect reason to pair it with spanakopita. 

Genevieve waved her over to her lane when she went up to check out. “Hey! I haven’t seen you out and about in _forever_.” Her long hair was pulled back, but it still swung down to her waist as she scanned rapidly; Laura knew she used to wear it down the last time she came into town, but it seemed to have gotten a lot longer.

Laura probably needed to leave the house more often. “Yeah, I was getting a little stir crazy cooped up like that. Finally had some free time now that we have no guests.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the strangers pause. 

“Oh? Everyone leave?”

“Yeah. We had a photographer around for a while, he was a sweetheart. A little weird but you know.” She shrugged.

Genevieve laughed. “As long as they’re not serial killers, right?”

“Right.” She accepted her bags and receipt with a smile, and nearly walked into a man basically twice her size. She stepped back. “Oops, excuse me.”

“Sorry about that.” He smiled at her pleasantly. “I didn’t mean to listen in, but did you say you had a photographer pass through?”

Her heart was pounding. “Yep,” she chirped. “Left a couple days ago.” She was terrified; she had no idea why, but something about this man and the one a few lanes away, frowning at a newspaper, made her hackles raise. She beamed at him. “He was the very first famous person we’ve ever had at the Mystic. I guess he isn’t _super_ famous, but his pictures sure are pretty, and they’ve been in magazines, so people know him.”

“Yes, they have,” the man said patiently.

Laura leaned against the counter, like she was prepared to stay and chat a while. “He was heading to Mexico when he left—he didn’t tell me, but I overheard,” she added with a guilty wince. “Thin walls, you know. But I just thought, wow, that must be so glamorous, getting to travel out of the country just to take pictures. He threw out his winter clothes and everything when he left.” She rolled her eyes and grinned. “Must be nice. He left in a convertible, too. All my pictures ever got me were six likes on Instagram.” 

Genevieve snickered behind her. 

“Thank you, you’ve been a big help,” the man said.

“Sure!” She waved as they left, watching as they walked down the sidewalk. She turned to Genevieve. “I—gotta go.” She took her bags and ran to her car, where she let her nerves out in the form of shaky cursing. Once she stopped trembling, she pulled out her phone. “Uncle Peter? I might need help. I fucked up.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Stiles wasn’t sure why, but halfway through Arizona, he felt an inexplicable sense of relief. His plan had been to cut through Arizona and bolt up to Vegas, then stop and let them catch a glimpse of him before running again. He stopped at a gas station for food and stood pretending to watch the news for a few minutes while he tried to pin point the feeling. 

It was like they’d backed off. He rocked back on his heels as he realized. It felt like the pressure was off. He swung his packet of Reese’s cups against his leg thoughtfully as he walked out of the gas station. 

He knew they wouldn’t have given up. Thinking that was just hopelessly optimistic. But maybe he was as well-hidden as he’d thought he was. Still, he didn't want to go straight back, just in case he was being followed. 

He stopped at a park in New Mexico—Villanueva State Park—to get some pictures, and to make sure he wasn’t being followed. It was still cool enough that there weren’t many other people around, just him and the whipping wind. 

He got a picture of a tree that sort of looked like a grumpy old man that he thought Derek would get a kick out of. He walked around until he found some disgruntled birds that Isaac would like, a very chilly lizard, and the perfect lighting on some red and yellow sandstone cliffs. 

It was a revelation to walk out in the open and not feel hunted. He knew it wouldn’t last—perhaps they’d seen someone who looked like him, or they thought he’d left the country again—but for now, he was hidden. 

He tipped his head back and took an impulsive picture of the sky. It was a waste; he hadn’t adjusted the settings or focused the shot. All he’d get were the tops of barren trees, streaks of light and shadows, but maybe it’d look artistic instead of clumsy. 

He let the camera rest against his chest and sighed. If they weren’t following him, he could go home, show Derek the pictures he’d taken with him in mind. It’d been longer than he normally stayed gone, but it was worth it. He’d let Derek and Laura know he’d be gone for a while, but he usually made it back within thirty hours at least. 

He rubbed his face. He was halfway to the car when he realized he thought of the Mystic as _home_. He stopped, just stopped, and stared around. When had _that_ happened? He wasn’t supposed to get attached. He didn’t _have_ a home.

Panic and joy warred in his chest, left him gripping a tree and gasping. He was in love with Derek. 

He sat down right where he’d been standing.

Oh, he was a fucking moron. “Jesus,” he muttered. He pulled his knees up and tried to breathe. He wasn’t _just_ in love with Derek, he was so deeply entangled that no matter what happened, he was screwed. He loved the inn, he loved Laura and Isaac and that doe that was getting more and more trusting with every day. 

Maybe those weren’t bad things. He inhaled and slowly uncurled. He seemed to be safe there. The Mystic had been doing a terrific job of keeping him hidden. Maybe…a shaky smile curled his mouth before he could help it. Maybe he could stay.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited we're finally getting here! Let me know what you think! <3 <3 <3

Derek swore and yanked his hand from the oven. He swore again when he saw the bright red of fresh blood on the back of his hand. The cut was partially obscured by the grime he’d accumulated while scrubbing the inside of the oven. 

He went to the sink and washed his hands. He’d gotten distracted while cooking and the roast had exploded, prompting his cleaning spree. 

Stiles had been gone two days, nearly three. He’d said he’d be a while when he left, had promised to return, but he’d never been gone this long.

Isaac claimed it was because the temperature had risen—more nature to take pictures of.

Derek remembered how fascinated Stiles had been by the snow and didn’t think that was it.

Laura came in. “Do you need the first aid kit?” She hadn’t slept more than a couple hours at a time for days; she looked like a zombie.

“No,” he grumbled. “It’s just a scrape.”

“Could get infected. Who knows what-”

“I don’t need a band aid for every little scrape,” he snapped. “I’m not six.” 

“Oh, no? Well, you sure do a good impression of it.” She let out a breath. “Sorry. I know you’re worried about Stiles.” 

He felt bad. “Yeah, but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Sorry.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” she said with a tense smile. 

Derek probably wouldn’t be so worried if Laura didn’t seem so nervous. Every other time Stiles had gone for a drive, she’d shrugged it off. This time, she looked sick with worry. It was making Derek crazy. 

He finished cleaning the oven, trying to talk himself down. He shouldn’t worry so much. He knew Stiles was clearly a traveler, and just didn’t like to sit in one place for very long. At least something always drew him back here, to them. 

It felt like more than itchy feet. It felt like he was still running. How long would it be until he decided to run and keep running?

Derek threw his rag into the sink and left the kitchen. 

Laura was in the sitting room, staring out the window with a blank expression. 

He crept past, hoping to avoid questions, and went down the hall to the right. He stopped in front of Stiles’s door. 

All of the guest rooms had plaques on the doors denoting the designated color. Stiles’s door said _Silver_. 

He backed up, leaning against the wall opposite the door. He really shouldn’t go in; it would be a violation of Stiles’s privacy, which he would be furious about. He wouldn’t ever trust Derek again, probably. 

But what if he was stuck and hurt somewhere, and they needed to find him?

Derek put his hand on the knob, then dropped it.

What if the room was empty?

He took a deep breath. He’d rather know than go on wondering. 

The door was locked, but he had keys to every room. He unlocked it, ignoring the shiver of guilt he felt as he trespassed. 

The room was dark, but he was relieved to see Stiles’s laptop and printer on the desk, his sweatshirt tossed carelessly over the foot of the bed. 

Derek started to back out, deciding this was enough and that he’d search for clues if Stiles was still gone the following evening, when something caught his eye. He hesitated, then flipped on the light. 

On the desk, in front of the laptop, stood a folded piece of paper.

It said _Derek_ on the front. 

Devastation crashed over him like a wave. He held onto the doorknob until he felt like he could walk to the desk. He stared down at the letter and felt his heart breaking. 

Had Stiles been too cowardly to break things off with him in person? Why leave a note at all then? And all of his stuff? Unless he planned on _coming back_ , and staying after Derek had _read_ the note. 

Derek thought he would probably go live with Uncle Peter in that case. He couldn’t take it. One way to find out, he decided, and grabbed the note before he could change his mind. 

‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ was the first line. 

His throat burned. He made himself keep reading.

‘ _If I don’t return…_ ’

He felt his devastation turn to confusion, then fury, then fear as he read. 

He dropped the letter on the desk and crawled under it, pulling the safe out. He had the factory codes memorize—Laura’s wrath be damned—so he reset the code and pried it open. The note had told him explicitly not to go into the safe, but—but Stiles was _gone_ , and he’d left an “in case I die” letter.

Inside were several rolls of cash, a film canister, and a thin stack of photos. He set the safe on the bed and took out the pictures. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL about all your comments about the cliffhangers!!! I wrote this to mimic the ~dramatic, romantic~ style of paperback romance novels so....EXPECT MORE. <3 Thank you!

Stiles was happy to be home. He was still a little freaked out that he thought of the Mystic as home, but he was coming around to it. He couldn’t wait to see Derek. He’d missed him, and he wanted to show him the pictures he’d taken.

He went straight to his room, thinking he’d change and get the printer started before greeting anyone. He stopped dead when he opened the door. 

Derek was sitting on the bed, the safe open to his right, holding—holding—

Stiles took a faltering step forward.

Derek’s head snapped up, the pictures tilting in his slackened hands. 

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?!” He looked around wildly, spotted the note he’d left, and choked back a sob. “You had no right to come in here and go through my things, you—you shouldn’t have—touched—” He pressed his knuckles against his mouth; his whole body instantly felt clammy. “Oh god, oh god.” He pressed a hand to his forehead while the room shimmered around him. “Oh, god, you’re in danger now, too. Now you’ll die and-” His breath hitched. “They’re going to _know_ , they-” His stomach clutched. He bolted to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet. He coughed and sobbed in turns. 

“Stiles,” Derek began quietly. His hand landed gently on his shoulder. 

Stiles jerked away. “ _No._ Don’t touch me! Jesus fucking Christ, Derek, jesus, why—why did you have to look in here?” He clenched his hands in his hair and rocked. “Okay, okay. They don’t know I’m here. I can still lead them away.” He jumped to his feet, holding onto the wall to keep from collapsing. He couldn’t breathe, his vision was all sparkly, but he’d run in worse condition. At least there was no blood this time.

“Stiles, wait-”

“I can’t!” he spat. He grabbed a packed duffle from under the bed and unzipped it. He snatched the cash from the safe and tossed it in, and the prints Derek had been looking at. He pocketed the negatives and stuffed his sweatshirt into the bag. “Move,” he snapped. He shoved past Derek, who was standing frozen in the middle of the room, and grabbed a stack of pictures out of his bedside table, then the letter, and went back to the bathroom.

Derek stepped aside. “What are you doing?” His voice was barely steady, arms crossed. 

“I’m disappearing before they can come and kill you. Thanks for that.” He dropped the pictures and letter in the sink. The photos were of the property, the front of the inn and the cars, all the surveillance he’d been doing. He climbed halfway onto the counter and grabbed the lighter he’d stowed behind the mirror. He lit the letter and dropped it on top of the pictures, igniting them. 

Derek sucked in a sharp breath, but Stiles was too panicked to feel bad about the fire freaking him out. “You can’t just leave, Stiles,” he said in a shaking voice. “No one knows you’re here.”

“Yes, but if they figure it out, you’ll be a target. Now you’ve seen the photos and they will kill you. Unless I leave before they realize I ever even stopped here. So that’s what I’m going to do.” He watched the pictures burn with a hand on the faucet. 

“Stiles, please. Just—don’t leave yet. I can figure-”

“No.” He watched them burn down to ashes before twisting the faucet on. He was shaking all over, covered in panic sweat, but he was already packing it away. He’d head north, then east and keep going. He still had enough money to reasonably buy his way onto a boat or private plane, which should get him some time. He sniffed and wiped his face, then made himself look up.

Derek was gone.

Stiles sighed wearily. That was for the best. This way he could just leave and not have to get by him. He packed his cameras and laptop and printer, and thought wistfully about the equipment in the basement. His own fault for getting comfortable, really.

He’d rather have Laura, Isaac, and Derek safe and alive than his enlarger loaded in the back of his car.

He wiped his eyes and grabbed his two bags; everything else could be replaced. He left through the side door and wished he’d gotten at least to say goodbye to Derek. 

_Better this way,_ he thought, letting the door close loudly behind him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3

Laura jolted awake from the restless doze she’d fallen in. She couldn’t understand what the noise was that had woken her. She looked around, realizing she was in the sitting room, and stood. She grunted and shuffled to the window. “Oh, fuck,” she muttered, and ran for the door. 

Derek and Stiles were shouting at each other next to Stiles’s SUV. Stiles looked awful, he had two bags over his shoulders, and he was crying. 

“Shit, shit.” Laura nearly toppled into the snow trying to get to them.

“Give me back my spark plugs!” Stiles hiccupped. “Please, just stop being a goddamn idiot. You’re—you—” His face twisted as if more tears were coming.

Laura made it to them and threw her arms out. “Shut up! Shut up both of you and get inside! Now!”

“Laura, I have to-” Stiles choked.

“You. Aren’t. Leaving.” 

“Get inside! It isn’t safe,” she hissed. “We’ll discuss it _inside_ ,” she said when they whirled on her, shocked. 

She dragged them both back inside, ignoring Stiles’s panicked breaths and Derek’s dire threats.

She locked the front door and checked around until she was sure Isaac was preoccupied fiddling with the radiator before marching back to the sitting room.

They were arguing; Derek had Stiles’s duffle bag, and Stiles looked ready to clock him for it and bolt.

Laura rolled her eyes. Didn’t Derek know better than to corner someone so clearly terrified? It left them no other option than to fight. 

“Sit down,” she ordered in a loud, commanding voice she’d never heard from herself before. She paused in shock; it’d sounded like her mother speaking for a moment.

Derek sat automatically, then looked pissed about it.

Stiles hovered uncertainly. 

Laura approached him, hands out, and gently directed him to a chair. She stepped back. “Okay, Stiles, tell us what’s going on. It’s time.”

He shook his head frantically and popped to his feet. “I can’t! I can’t tell you or anyone, it isn’t safe, you’ll—you’ll die-” He shoved a fist against his mouth, breathing hard and blinking back tears.

Laura nodded. She’d expected as much. “Alright,” she said soothingly. “Sit down.” She went to the mini fridge they kept in the sitting room and grabbed a bottle of water. She passed it to Stiles, waiting until he took it to start speaking. “That’s fine. Let me tell you what I know, and we’ll go from there.”

He stared at her, eyes glassy. 

“You’re Mieczysław Stilinski, a photographer from California, who travels and is pretty damn good at what he does. You’re twenty-six, you disappeared a year and a half ago.” She felt bad that he was paling the longer she spoke, but she wasn’t joking earlier: it was time. “You were making a name for yourself in the photography world before your disappearance. Any clues as to why you disappeared have been buried. Looking into it draws people here, asking questions about your whereabouts.”

Stiles looked like he was going to pass out.

“What?” Derek barked. “What people?”

She shot him an impatient glare, then looked at Stiles again. “I met one of them.”

Stiles groaned, lifting shaking hands to his face. 

“He asked me about you in the grocery store. I told him you’d stayed with us for a week before heading to Mexico.”

He dropped his hands, jaw hanging open. “What?” he asked faintly.

She smiled a little. “Yeah. You ditched your SUV for a convertible and went to Mexico. Lucky bastard.” 

He let out a wet laugh. He was shaking all over, his face so pale that he could’ve been a ghost.

Laura crouched in front of him, setting a hand on his knee. “I know you’re scared. But it’s your turn.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Professor Cliffhanger, reporting for duty! That made me laugh so much oh my god. I love all of you <3
> 
> ANYHOW, buckle up, ladies, gents, and non-binary friends, because the Plot is now In Motion and there will soon be a tag update! Enjoy!

He was terrified, but Laura was right. She’d made herself a target, and Derek had seen the pictures; Stiles’s safe haven was rapidly crumbling around him. He couldn’t let it crush them with him. He drew in a shaky breath.

“Have you—you’ve heard of Deucalion Turner, right?”

“The millionaire?” Laura asked, looking puzzled. 

Derek inhaled sharply, looking at the bag he’d ripped away from Stiles. 

He swallowed. “Yeah. Um, apparently the police and the FBI have been trying to get proof—something that’ll stick anyway—of his suspected crimes for years. And, um. A couple summers ago—well, the June before last…I was in Vermont doing some landscapes, trying to decide where to go next.” He twisted the water bottle between his hands anxiously. “I was alone, I’ve gotten into a ton of crap for that before, but this was—the worst.” 

Laura’s face was tense but she still didn’t—couldn’t, really—know what was coming.

Derek’s face had gone ice white and blank. He’d seen the pictures. He knew what was coming.

“I wandered off the path I’d been following—story of my life,” he joked weakly, and felt like he was going to cry again. “I was taking pictures of everything—summer in Vermont is pretty gorgeous.” He wiped his nose. “Anyway, I heard something and assumed it was an animal, so I turned and started shooting.” He lifted his hands and dropped them. “He—Deucalion and two others had two men with their hands tied behind their backs. Deucalion beat on them for a while before he, um, he shot them. I was so close I could smell the gun smoke.” 

Laura’s jaw hung open. “Wh—wha…how…”

“My time in photojournalism kept me there,” he went on blankly. “I knew I had to get all the shots I could, to make sure this guy didn’t get away with two murders. He turned. I got a very good shot of him facing me and standing over two bodies. He started shooting, so I ran.” He bent forward, catching his breath. That short run through a Vermont forest wasn’t even the most terrifying thing he’d ever done. Photojournalists didn’t make many friends. “I made it back to my car,” he continued, “and went to the police. They listened to me, let me develop the pictures to show them.” He rubbed his mouth. “The FBI was called, since they were investigating him already.” He cleared his throat. “They wanted the pictures, and me, to try him. Obviously, I said I would testify against him. He’d just killed two people.” 

Laura nodded slowly, but she looked afraid.

“Deucalion tried to kill me minutes after I left the station—they were escorting me to my hotel room. The agent in charge decided I needed to be put in witness protection. They assigned two handlers right away, since Deucalion was so close by and already trying to kill me.”

“Witness…protection…” Derek repeated faintly. 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Um, it worked for almost a year. We had to move a lot, trade out handlers so that he couldn’t keep track of who might be with me and try to bribe them.” He jerked his shoulders. “Didn’t matter. He found us—or he hired guys, I guess, who found us in Huron, South Dakota.” He remembered the day vividly.

Agent Meluleni had run out for groceries while Stiles and Agent Driesse played cards. 

He’d come back with a gun to his head and a broken jaw. 

Agent Driesse had shoved Stiles out the back door while drawing her gun, but it didn't matter; there were at least seven guys in and around the house. One of them had grabbed Stiles. Agent Meluleni’s last words had been spent shouting at Stiles not to tell them anything. 

Agent Driesse had managed to shoot and kill three of the men, and another two once she’d been disarmed, before one of them gutted her. 

Stiles had screamed, he remembered. Like a wounded animal, clawing at the man holding him while she died on the floor.

He cleared his throat again. “Agent Driesse had taught me some stuff, and I managed to get her gun…” He shook his head. “The negatives weren’t even supposed to be there, but the agent handling the whole case was worried Deucalion had people in the FBI, so he had me keep them with me.” He wiped his nose again, furious that his eyes kept watering. “I think he thought that Deucalion would assume they’d confiscated the pictures.” He shuddered. “After that, I took what I had and ran. They’d let me withdraw all of my money before we went under, thankfully, or I’d be a lot worse off.”

Laura and Derek both looked stunned.

Stiles nodded, fighting back tears. “So you guys have to let me go. I can draw them away before they even think to look here, keep them from finding out I was here so long.” He rubbed his mouth, hoping he didn’t get sick. “If anyone comes looking for me, just—just tell them I was some weirdo who left after a couple nights, good riddance. But-” He took a shaky breath. “But I’m going to do my best to draw them away so they never even come here. They want me and the negatives, that’s it.” 

“Stiles,” Laura said quietly, “we could never-”

He lurched forward, catching her wrists. “You _have_ to. Laura, they will _kill_ you. They’ll kill Derek, and Isaac and Mina, and anyone they think I’ve spoken to, to punish me for keeping away from them.” He let go and took a breath. “If you even _suspect_ they might think you may have seen the pictures, don’t wait. Just run. But if my plan works, they shouldn’t—shouldn’t come after you at all.” They should catch up to him easily enough; they didn’t have much trouble when he was actively hiding from them. It’d be swift if he was waiting for them.

“That,” a male voice said, “sounds like a very good way to get yourself killed.”

Stiles jumped and whirled, half expecting one of Deucalion’s men. 

A fair-haired man stood just inside the sitting room, arms crossed. He was wearing an open black jacket with tags still on the sleeve, clearly unprepared for the weather.

“Who are you?” Stiles’s voice wavered.

“Uncle Peter?” Derek croaked.


	26. Chapter 26

Derek had _no idea_ what was going on. How did this _happen?_ Laura had known who Stiles really was all along—or at least for a while—and Stiles had been in _witness protection_ and now _Uncle Peter was here?_

“I don’t—I don’t understand.” He looked around the room.

“If they kill me and they have the negatives, they’ll leave Derek and Laura alone,” Stiles snapped. He and Peter had been arguing since Stiles figured out Peter wasn’t there to kill him. “Take them home with you for an extended vacation. Just until—until they find me.” 

Derek felt a flash of rage so powerful it burnt away his confusion. “Oh, so you’re sending us way so you can die, is that it? Do I get a say in this?”

Stiles snarled, “ _No!_ ” so he was probably still mad about the spark plugs. 

“They won’t stop,” Peter told him. He shook his head when Stiles tried to protest. “They won’t. They could never be sure if you gave Derek or Laura copies. They’ll try to kill them, too, to be sure.” 

Derek saw the words hit Stiles like a physical blow; he swayed in pace, eyes going glassy. 

“No—how could they—they couldn’t have any way of knowing how long-”

“Doesn’t matter,” Peter cut in. “They know you passed through, and they know someone in the area was trying to find out more about your disappearance.” 

Laura let out a soft, distressed sound.

“So they know you were here at least long enough for someone to recognize you,” he went on. “Long enough for that someone to wonder about you.” 

Stiles looked dangerously pale; even his mouth was white and bloodless. “No, no, I can’t—I can’t-” His breath wheezed as panic began to strangle him. 

“Jesus, Peter,” Derek growled. He stomped over to Stiles and guided him to the chair he’d abandoned. He snatched the water bottle and twisted the top off. “Drink,” he muttered.

Stiles didn’t argue. He was shaking so hard he needed help not sloshing water all over himself.

“Oh, damn it, Derek,” Peter muttered. 

He shot him a furious look, but he didn’t leave Stiles’s side. “How are we going to fix this?”

Stiles shook his head, closing his eyes. A tear tracked down his cheek. 

Derek felt hopeless, like he’d lost Stiles already; Stiles had given up surviving this, and he was starting to believe him. He felt anger and fear warring in him; rage that he’d found love only for the universe to snatch it away again. Terror that it was going to succeed, and maybe more. He couldn’t handle losing anyone else, the remainder of his family, Isaac, Stiles. He would break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do NOT want to wait until Wednesday to post urgh


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are cracking me up. I'm gonna be honest, I stick to a posting schedule for two reasons: 1) I'm super fucking dramatic and that's why there are so many cliffhangers. I just love them. 2) I'm a story teller. Down to my bones. When I tell stories to people verbally, this is exactly how I tell them. I want the gasps and the frustrated shrieks and the furious "WELL DON'T LEAVE US HANGING!?" I just thrive on that. Plus, every encouraging comment makes me write faster lmao. 
> 
> I have two fully finished fics ready to be posted after this one for this paperbacks series. I've started a fourth. I'm being so productive this year!

Laura felt terrible. She fucked up big time. She rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the image of Stiles’s pale, terrified face from her mind. All that did was leave space for the story he’d told them. She could imagine everything so clearly, and she hated that. 

“Stiles,” she said, while he was still trembling from Peter’s prediction.

He looked at her.

“I’m sorry.” She moved closer to him, but Derek wouldn’t let her get close enough to touch. “I’m sorry. I should have just spoken to you when I realized who you were, instead of sneaking around.” She wiped her eyes, frustrated when they began to water. She’d done this; she had no right to cry. “I just wanted to help you.”

He shrugged. “If you’d have talked to me, I’d have just run anyway.” He sighed sadly. “But If I’d run a long time ago, you guys would be safe now.”

Peter sighed, long and loud. “Get it together. I have a plan.” He moved so he was standing in front of Stiles, looking him in the eye. “The only thing is that my plan relies on you being brave. On you not bolting at the last second, and finally finishing what you started.”

Stiles swallowed audibly. “I…”

“Peter, he’s been through a lot,” Laura cut in. “If it’s anything dangerous, we can’t ask him to do it.” 

“Well,” Peter said silkily, “we didn't ask him to put us in danger either.”

Stiles flinched.

Derek rose to his feet like a vengeance. “You need to-”

“I’ll stay,” Stiles said. “I will.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Laura looked at Stiles’s face, pale and thin, determined. “I trust you,” she said. “I know you’re a good guy who would never intentionally hurt us.” She shot Peter a dark look. 

He didn’t seem bothered. “Alright. I was contacted by the FBI after Laura called me about you, when she realized what was going on.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed. She’d led _two_ groups to Stiles. She was the _worst._

“They’ve been looking for you; they thought Deucalion had killed you, they found a lot of your blood at the safe house in Huron. When they realized you were alive a few months ago, they redoubled their efforts to find you. I told them everything I knew.” 

Stiles’s mouth opened a couple times. He shook his head. “No. Two federal agents _died_ last time.” 

“More people are going to continue to die if you don’t do something.” Peter tilted his head; Laura tensed. He’d always been almost scarily good at seeing straight through people to their cores. “That’s why you went to the police in the first place, isn’t it? That’s why you _made_ them look at the pictures you’d taken, why you forced them to listen to you until someone realized you were talking about an open federal case. That’s why you agreed to testify against him even after his second attempt on your life.”

Stiles sucked in a shuddering breath; he’d started crying silently while Peter spoke.

Peter leaned down so they were eye-to-eye. “You want to stop him. You wanted to before. You saw something wrong and wanted to right it. I know you’re scared. You saw horrible things, you had horrible things done to you.”

Stiles’s hand jumped to his side. “I-” His gaze cut away.

Laura frowned.

“But if you can remember why you started this in the first place, and be brave, you can finish it, and you won’t have to run anymore.”

Laura hated how afraid Stiles looked.

Derek looked lost and frazzled, like he couldn’t decide what to be mad about. He was hovering over and around Stiles’s chair, not quite touching him but not letting anyone else close enough to touch him either. 

Laura blinked, frowning, and felt her shoulders stiffen. When had her little brother had time to fall in _love_? This was terrible timing. She pressed her hands over her eyes. She’d deal with that later. 

“Okay,” Stiles rasped. “Okay. Tell me.”

Peter smiled.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is where I get to update the tags! <3 Hope you all enjoy!

Two people checked in with Laura two hours later. They arrived in a plain beige sedan, they each had one bag, and checked in under the name ‘Jones’. The woman let Laura show her around. The man went behind the desk, into the kitchen, and through the door to the basement. 

Stiles leaped off the freezer. He swallowed. “Agent McCall.”

“Mr. Stilinski.” After a second, Scott’s stern demeanor broke. He grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and hugged him. “Christ, we thought you were dead. Where the _hell_ have you been? What happened? You lost a lot of blood!”

Stiles pried himself free and took a deep breath. “I mean, it’s pretty simple. They found us, killed my handlers, I…”

“We know it was self-defense,” Scott said gently.

Stiles nodded, swallowing dryly. “After I shot one, his partner, um, well.” He lifted his shirts. 

Scott swore.

“Adrenaline is a hell of a thing,” he muttered, dropping his shirts. “After he was dead, I used some shirts and wrapped it up, packed what I could, took the car, and…” He shrugged. “Just ran. Kept doing what you guys had me doing. I went to an urgent care, paid cash to the doctor so he would patch me up without sending me to a hospital.”

Scott shook his head. “I understand that, but Stiles…” He sighed heavily and leaned back against the freezer. “I get why you ran, but you should have trusted us to help you.”

“That’s what I did,” Stiles pointed out. “But two federal agents ended up murdered in front of me anyway.” 

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Scott said solemnly. 

Stiles nodded. He’d swung wildly through so many emotions in the past four hours that now he felt numb, wrung out and incapable of coherent thought. “Do you—did you hear Peter’s plan?”

“Yes. Agent Wilcox is doing a perimeter sweep right now, securing the area. We’re putting Turner in jail until his trial this time.”

“He won’t come here himself.”

Scott made a face. “We are reasonably sure he will. His people failed the last time they had you, and they haven’t been able to catch up to you since then. He’s pissed and he wants to make sure you get taken care of. With our plan, he should know where you are very soon.” 

“Reasonably sure,” Stiles muttered. 

“We’re seizing a lot of his property, but we’re trying not to tip him off. We have people ready to arrest him in several possible locations, we’re keeping track of all of his known accounts and associates. You and the Hales shouldn’t be in any danger.” 

“Yeah.” Stiles twisted his hands together nervously. “Scott-”

“Your dad is fine. They haven’t tried to go after him at all, and he’s been grumpy but cooperative about his handler living with him.” Scott smiled at him, but it was tense. “We didn’t tell him you were injured, but he knows you weren’t with us any longer. He said he didn’t know if you were being stupid or outsmarting everyone.” 

Stiles laughed. “Sounds like my teenage years all over again.”

“That’s what he said.” Scott sighed. “We’re going to deal with this, and then you can go home.”

Stiles tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He was tired.


	29. Chapter 29

When Stiles came to his room, Derek didn’t know whether to slam the door in his face or just hold onto him forever. He opted to step aside and let him into the room. He was incapable of turning him away, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t mad at him. 

Sties stood in the center of the room, looking pale and nervous, all folded in on himself like he was waiting for Derek to start yelling at him again. “I unpacked my stuff,” he said hoarsely. “Scott—that’s Agent McCall—said to set up like I never tried to leave. He, Peter, and Agent Wilcox are working out the plan. Peter’s was a little too dangerous for Scott.” 

Derek didn’t speak. He had too much running through his head, and most of it was completely inappropriate for the moment. 

Stiles swallowed. “I’m supposed to—my part of it comes in tomorrow. I have to-”

“Why didn’t you just _tell_ me?” Derek bit out. “Right away, I get that. But after…after we were together. Why didn’t you ask for help?”

Stiles nodded, his gaze on the floor. “I didn’t—didn’t want you guys to die, too.” His voice broke. “I was trying to protect you.”

Derek pressed his lips together, then blew out an explosive breath. “I know. I get it, I know. I just hate seeing you like this. I want to help you.”

Stiles nodded again, quickly, his eyes filling with tears. “I know. You and Laura and Isaac have—you’re all so im-important to me and you helped me, and you and Laura have already lost so much. I-” His face crumpled. He started to cry, full-body sobs that broke something in Derek. “I don’t want you to die, too, I can’t watch them kill someone else for helping me.”

“Okay, okay.” Derek pulled him into his chest and rocked them for a minute. 

Stiles clung to his shirt and shook while he soothed him.

Derek moved, sitting on the bed and pulling Stiles into his lap. As he sobbed, he rubbed his back and rocked gently. He felt the bump of the scars on his side. 

Peter said the FBI had thought Stiles was dead, because of “all the blood”. 

Stiles hadn’t said he’d been hurt when they’d killed the agents protecting him, but it’d been clear, as he was speaking, that he’d been skimming over details. 

Derek pressed a kiss to the side of his head and let him cry it out. He wondered if Stiles had had any time to slow down and really process everything that had happened. 

He was guessing…no. Not with the constant fear of being caught or seen. He’d have kept running, kept hiding, and probably never stopped to breathe if he hadn’t have stumbled onto the Mystic. 

Derek tightened his arms around him and silently promised to help him however he could.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Hope you all enjoy! :D

Stiles felt like the last year and a half had been spent in a constant state of fear. He wondered if there was a threshold of terror he could reach. 

He inhaled and started the SUV.

Derek had put the sparkplugs back that morning after breakfast. He and Scott weren’t getting along very well—he thought the plan was dangerous and stupid and that Stiles shouldn’t go alone.

Scott insisted it _wasn’t_ dangerous, since most of Deucalion’s henchmen had gone to Mexico to look for Stiles—thank you, Laura—and that he wasn’t going alone.

Agent Wilcox was following him; she was an all-business sort of person, extremely professional, and Stiles got the feeling that she was dangerous.

Stiles made himself breathe evenly as he drove; the last thing he needed was to have a panic attack on the road. He glanced up and grimaced. The clouds looked threatening, heavy and dark. He hadn’t heard anything about a storm coming, but so far the weather had been unpredictable at best anyway. 

Laura and Scott had told Isaac what was going on that morning. He lived there, too, so it was only right to warn him about what was going on. He’d gotten pale, and had shot Stiles horrified looks all through breakfast.

But when Scott had offered to get him out of there before everything went down, he refused. He wanted to stay with Laura and Derek.

Stiles clenched his hands around the wheel. So now all three of them—four, counting Peter—could die because of Stiles. 

Peter had been…Peter was unnerving. He’d looked at Derek like he didn’t know who he was when he cooked breakfast, and he’d noticed the products of Laura’s nerves—two cakes and an abundance of cookies—and had looked so lost. But he looked at Stiles like he was thinking about dissecting his brain and spoke to Scott and Agent Wilcox like they were simply there to watch and learn rather than to oversee the case. 

Stiles thought it was how the Hales worked—with family they were marshmallows. Everyone else could get fucked. He wasn’t sure any of them had made the right decision when it came to helping him. He sucked in a breath as he entered the edge of town. 

This was so stupid.

But Scott insisted he’d be safe, and he trusted Scott; they were childhood friends, which was why Stiles had had so much leeway when he first went into witness protection. He was the agent who’d been handling the case, so he knew the most about it. He said that Deucalion would have had someone stay in Charming for a little while, just in case, and Stiles trusted him.

Charming was very small. All he had to do was get out and walk around for a while. He’d learned that most people didn’t follow photographers the way they did with celebrities, no matter how many awards they won, but that everyone wanted a free professional picture, especially if they could Google the name and find evidence that they were actually professionals. 

Stiles parked outside of the post office, grabbed his camera, and jumped out of the SUV before he could talk himself out of it. He took a couple pointed, bracing breaths before he looked around. He spotted a local coffee shop and went there. He made a show of framing the building and looking at it from different angles before taking a couple pictures. He went inside. 

There were only two people there: a woman sitting at a table frantically scribbling in a notebook, wearing earbuds, and another behind the counter. 

The one behind the counter eyed him warily. “Hello,” she chirped. “You lost?”

Stiles made himself smile and approach the counter. “Nope! Unless this isn’t Charming, Colorado?”

“You’re in the right place. Taking pictures?” She nodded at his camera.

“Yes! I’m a photographer,” he said amiably. “I was hoping to speak to the owner. This building is beautiful, I’d love to get some pictures for the book I’m doing,” he invented wildly. 

“I’m the owner,” she said, warming slightly. “You’re a photographer?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mieczysław Stilinski,” he said, and felt his pulse triple in fear. He felt exposed, though there was no way either of the people here knew who he was. “You can call me Stiles,” he added with a bright smile.

She smiled back this time. “I’m Michelle. What sort of photos do you do?”

“All sorts,” he chirped. “Landscapes in Taiwan, buildings in Rome, people in Paris.” He smiled again, because he didn’t know what else to do with his face. “My new book is about small towns and locals, you know.”

“ _New_ book?”

His smile widened. 

Michelle let him take pictures of the front of her coffee shop; she even posed for a few herself. 

Stiles promised to email her free copies of the pictures, and moved on to the grocery store. 

It was packed, but most of the people inside were calm, chatting as they gathered what they needed to ride out whatever freak storm was on its way.

Stiles grabbed a couple things and got in line. The back of his neck prickled. He swallowed, and his hands shook as he set the things he’d grabbed on the belt. 

No one was staring at him, no one had pointed or gasped as he’d walked in, but-

But he felt like he’d been spotted. He’d been running and scared long enough to recognize the feeling. 

The cashier looked about Laura’s age, with a cheerful smile and long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail that did nothing to keep it out of the way. “Hi! You’re new.” 

He forced himself to smile at her. “I’m just passing through. I’m a photographer.” 

“Oh? Hey, we had a photographer pass through not too long ago! Maybe you know each other.” She winked. 

He made himself laugh. “That was me, probably. Do you know if the Mystic Inn is still open? I forgot some, uh, pictures that I really need.”

“Oh, that _was_ you! Yeah, they’re open year-round. I know the owner, she said you were on your way to Mexico! Did you even make it?”

He grimaced. “Yep. Got all the way and realized I’d left some kind of important negatives behind.”

“That sucks, but isn’t that always how it goes?” She held her hand out. “Here’s your change. I’m sure Laura will have your film,” she added with a quick smile.

“Thanks. Have a good one.”

“You too!” She waved cheerily and turned to her next customer.

Stiles went back to the post office, but waited to approach the SUV until Agent Wilcox left the post office.

She nodded without looking at him.

He got in and started it, forcing back any thoughts or feelings. Driving, road, back to the inn. He couldn’t afford to think yet.

Derek was waiting outside. 

Stiles had barely put the car in park when he ripped the door open and yanked him out, only pausing long enough to fight with his seatbelt. He pulled him in and locked his arms around him.

Stiles curled into his embrace, hands clenching in the front of his jacket. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the fear he’d been repressing crash over him.

“Come on. Agent McCall,” he sneered the name, “wants to talk to everyone.” He kept an arm around his waist, even though it was kind of awkward when Stiles had to reach in and get the keys from the ignition. 

Scott clapped Stiles on the shoulder when they got inside. “You did great.”

“Someone saw me,” he said in a flat voice. “I felt like someone was watching me.”

Scott nodded. “Makes sense. They’re trying hard to find you, I knew Deucalion would leave someone here just in case you came back.” He gestured. “Everyone else is in the dining room.”

Derek stood behind Stiles’s chair instead of sitting. He’d been hovering since Stiles had broken down sobbing the night before. It had been embarrassing but cathartic, in a way. Stiles had certainly slept like the dead afterward. He’d expected to have nightmares, if he slept at all.

“Okay. We let Stiles show himself. If Turner has anyone keeping an eye out here, they’ll send out a message that he’s back. It’s time to wait. If he has anyone here, he’ll have them watching the inn to make sure it isn’t a trap. So everyone needs to go about their normal business from here on. That means huddling in one place isn’t going to work.” Scott held out his hands. “I’m going to be honest. My bosses wanted to send an entire team here, but given the givens, they eventually agreed that either Stiles or Deucalion would run. So it’s me and Agent Wilcox for now. We’ll act as guests, just until they arrive.”

Agent Wilcox spoke next. “Turner won’t want to risk anymore witnesses we can use against him. He’s not going to do anything to you. He’ll want Stilinski, and he’ll want him alone.” 

Laura threw her hands up. “So, what, if he walks in, I just let him go get Stiles? Wave him by?”

“Yes,” Stiles snapped. 

She shot him a glare. 

Scott said, “He won’t be that straight forward. He’ll just rent a room and find Stiles himself.” 

“He’s a narcissist,” Wilcox added. “Stiles wounded his pride. He _wants_ to kill him himself.” 

Stiles shuddered.

Derek put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed. 

Scott noticed. “It’s going to be fine. Just go about your business as usual.”

Stiles slumped into his seat. Sure. He was just waiting for someone to come and kill him. Business as usual.


	31. Chapter 31

A blizzard was creeping toward Charming. Laura listened to the news with a frown, tapping her fingers along the counter. She was trying not to take the miserable weather as an omen, but it’d snowed four inches overnight, and now the wind was kicking up again. It certainly wasn’t a _good_ sign.

Isaac leaned against the front of the counter. “That sucks. I thought it was going to start melting soon.”

She made herself snort. “Yeah, not likely.” They were both tense, just trying to keep busy and look normal about it since Agent McCall’s meeting the evening before.

Isaac was nervous; he’d taken to lugging a toolbox around like a safety blanket.

Laura supposed it wasn’t too odd, since he was the handyman. “We’ll probably stay around or below freezing for a while yet. Don’t worry.” She patted his arm. “There’s plenty of firewood.”

“Yes, but _still._ ” He picked at his fingernail. “Did Derek say what he was making for lunch?”

Her mouth twisted. 

Derek was in a terrible mood; part of the plan was letting Deucalion believe he had a chance to get to Stiles. That meant Stiles couldn’t be in the common spaces of the inn…like the kitchen, for instance. 

“He’s making roast chicken and fresh bread, I believe.” She shrugged. 

Isaac grimaced. “I’m taking that to mean he’s still a ray of sunshine today?”

“Oh, you know Derek. Just a bundle of fun when things don’t go his way.” 

He bobbed his head, lips quirking. 

The front door opened, letting in a blast of cold air. Outside, the wind had already begun to howl.

Isaac twitched, but stepped aside slightly. 

A large man stepped inside, carefully wiping slush off his boots onto the mat. He looked up.

Laura’s breath caught when she recognized him. She glanced at Isaac and realized they were all in over their heads. “Isaac, please go check the radiator in the laundry room.”

His face twisted in confusion. “The la-”

“Yes, the radiator. It’s cold. _Now_ , please,” she said sharply. Her heart was in her throat. 

He looked upset, but dutifully grabbed his toolbox and headed to the hall where the laundry room was. 

The man approached the desk. 

They both watched silently until Isaac was out of sight. 

The man looked back at her. “That was nice of you.”

No games, then, no pretending not to know who he was or why he was here. She made herself shrug. “He’s just the hired help. He’ll probably get at least hazard pay out of this.”

The man nodded thoughtfully, as if this was perfectly reasonable. He lifted a gun from his belt and gestured at her. “Walk or I shoot you and the help.”

Laura walked.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3 Chapter 33 which will be posted Wednesday is one of my favorites x)

Derek was only making bread so he had something to do with his hands. He could imagine the dough was Agent McCall’s face while he kneaded it roughly. Stupid, smug asshole; he thought he knew best, but his plans had already almost gotten Stiles killed in the past, hadn’t they? Asshole. Forcing them to all be in separate rooms. He’d claimed it’d be _suspicious_ if they were all huddled in the same room.

He’d claimed that Stiles being in the room with any of them, spending time with them, would be so out of the ordinary for him that it would be immediately suspicious. 

Right. So Derek was just making fucking lunch. No big deal. He snarled and flung the dough onto his floured slab. This was so _stupid_. He couldn’t believe Peter wanted to go along with it. And where was Peter? When Derek had asked where he’d be while they were all being _totally normal and not suspicious_ , he’d just said “around”. 

Laura hadn’t questioned him, had just sighed and told him not to get hurt. 

Derek growled and clattered around until he found a pan for the bread. Lunch would be roast chicken subs and if anyone disagreed with that, they could go to hell.

He was worried about Stiles. He sighed and braced his hands on the counter, letting his head hang. He didn’t think Stiles would run and let them all get killed. He was worried Stiles would offer himself up in order to save them, whatever Peter said about the chances of that working.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut. There was too much going on to just wait. Maybe he’d get Stiles to come and eat. Eating meals wasn’t suspicious, McCall could screw himself. 

Something crashed and shook the walls. 

Derek ran for the dining room, then swore when something slammed against the wall from the _other_ side. He ran out, skidding over the rug.

Isaac was in the hall outside the laundry room, fighting two men. He was bleeding.

One of the men cocked his arm back.

Derek tackled him.

A heavy _twang_ had Derek’s head snapping up.

Isaac swung the huge wrench in his hand again. The head connected to the second man’s temple.

He crumpled.

The man under Derek was still fighting to get up, but Derek had his arms pinned under his knees. He grunted and jerked his head back. 

Derek flinched.

The man yanked his arm free and thrust his elbow back. It rammed into Derek’s ribs.

He wheezed and sat up, grabbing the man’s wrists and yanking them behind his back. 

Isaac scrambled over and reached around Derek’s hands, tying the man’s wrists together.

“What is that?”

“Lamp wire,” he muttered, concentrating. He had blood smeared down the side of his face. 

Derek moved to sit on the guy’s legs until Isaac finished tying his wrists. They both ignored his cursing as Isaac tied his ankles. 

“Grab something for that, would you?” Isaac’s voice was vague and detached.

Derek leaned into the laundry room and grabbed a rag. “Got any duct tape?”

Once both men were tied and taped up in the laundry room, Derek realized Isaac was injured and that there could be more intruders. He locked them both in the hall bathroom and started rummaging around for the first aid kit. “What the hell just happened?” he asked. He found the kit wedged between the sink pipe and an industrial bottle of tub cleaner. He dragged it out and started fighting with the clasps. 

Isaac stared at him. “I was in the laundry room,” he said vaguely. 

Derek pulled out some alcohol wipes and spun to face him. “Why were you in the-”

Isaac jolted suddenly; his wide eyes paired with the split in his cheek and rapidly swelling left eye made him look deranged. “I was in the laundry room and I heard noises in Stiles’s room and—I went to help but those two jumped me.” 

Derek lurched to his feet. “Stay here.” He ran for Stiles’s room. He threw the door open and felt his heart sink.

The room was a mess. There was blood on the carpet, and the window was open. The wind howled outside. 

Derek’s mouth tightened grimly. 

“Hey,” Isaac said faintly from out in the hall. “Where’s Laura?”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really love this chapter x) Hope you all enjoy!

Laura heard Derek and Isaac rushing outside, calling for her and Stiles, and wisely did not respond. She had no idea where Agents McCall and Wilcox were, but it couldn’t be good, given that the inn had been invaded so thoroughly. 

The man was standing between her and the door; he’d brought her to her own room. “We only want the pictures,” he said. “It’s nothing personal, and it really has nothing to do with you. Tell us where he hid them and we won’t hurt you.”

She scoffed before she could stop herself. “No, just Stiles, right?”

“He’s got a big mouth,” he said evenly, shrugging one large shoulder. “But _your_ family won’t be hurt.”

Laura kept quiet this time, eyeing him; he had her on height and general musculature. He was between her and the door, and by the time she got the window open, he’d have shot her. 

The only advantage she had was that he didn’t seem to view her as a physical threat, or maybe he just didn’t want to shoot her for whatever reason. 

“I don’t know where he keeps the pictures,” she said at last. She wished she’d dressed warmer. It was going to be cold outside.

“I’m sure you can come up with some places for us to check,” he said pleasantly.

“There’s the darkroom in the basement. Seems like he’d probably keep pictures in there.” 

He smiled at her. “Not these ones.”

She said, “You can check-” and bolted past him. She’d almost made it to the door when he tackled her, flattening her to the floor. She didn’t let herself think about how much it hurt; she squirmed around and swung at his face. 

He caught her arm and pinned it down.

As he bunched up his fist, ready to punch her, she decided—she had to do whatever she could to keep this man away from her brothers and Stiles. 

She yanked her other arm out from under his leg and nailed him in the balls. 

He bowed forward, a high wheeze coming from his throat. 

Laura reared up as fast and hard as she could, head-butting him in the nose.

He wheezed again.

She scrambled free and locked herself in the bathroom. Panting, she looked around wildly, her eyes catching on all the bottles and cans on the counters. She had hairspray and perfume but nothing to ignite either with. She dropped to her knees and threw open the cabinets, hoping to find a weapon.

“Miss Hale,” the man said. His voice sounded tense but like he was still trying to be polite. “You know this won’t end well for you. Why are you protecting him? He’s nothing to you.” The door splintered as he kicked it.

Laura leaped back with a shriek, hands clenching on the first thing she could reach in the cabinet. She threw it.

Tampons rained down when the box bounced off his head. 

She had the half-hysterical thought that she should’ve asked Isaac to get the jumbo box.

He kicked the door again.

Laura scrambled to her feet and leaped into the shower, yanking the curtain shut. She cursed herself as the shower curtain swayed. What the hell was hiding _in the shower_ going to do?

The door finally gave in, crashing down and making her flinch. She grabbed the detachable shower head and reached back, fingers resting on the dial. 

“Mr. Turner would be more than happy to forget all of you, you know. He just wants the pictures.” He flung the curtain back. 

Laura sprayed him in the face with hot water, then tried to bolt past him.

He clotheslined her across the chest, slamming her back against the tiles. He held her there, her toes barely skimming the tub. 

Her eyes wheeled. 

“Stilinski isn’t worth your family’s lives, Miss Hale,” he said almost gently. “Or your own.”

She groped around and grabbed the hose of the shower head. She managed to swing it up.

It slammed against his cheekbone, knocking him off balance. 

She leaped while she could, looping the hose around his neck and pulling. Water sprayed all over the bathroom. 

The man bypassed scrabbling for the hose; instead, he reached back and caught Laura by the hair, just enough for her to flinch.

She snatched up a bottle of perfume. 

He ripped the shower hose off the attachment and tossed it aside. “I suppose,” he rasped, “you won’t be changing your mind.”

She sprayed him in the face with Versace Bright Crystal. 

He swore, hands flying to protect his eyes just a second too late.

Laura ran for the door; she made it to the hallway, her wet sneakers slipping on the hardwood. She nearly sobbed when she saw Agent Wilcox running for her. “They-”

Wilcox put a hand to her own mouth, silently shushing her. She passed her, drawing her gun and running back to Laura’s room. She stepped through the door.

A shot rang out, then another. 

Laura jumped; her hands clamped over her mouth to stop from screaming as Wilcox collapsed. 

The man stepped over Wilcox’s prone body; his eyes were bloodshot as he advanced on Laura. “If you’re so determined to help him, maybe you’d like to see him.”

She glanced over her shoulder automatically, toward Stiles’s room. The door hung open. She looked back at the man. 

He kept walking toward her.

Laura thought, _To hell with it,_ and rushed him. She didn’t see him swing, but she felt it when his gun banged into her temple. At least Derek and Isaac were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title for the chapter: "Idiot boys" because they didn't check Laura's bedroom   
> However I can attest that if you're panicked sometimes you do some pretty idiotic things


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! <3

There were tracks in the snow, mussed and sloppy as though whoever was walking had been dragging something.

_Or someone,_ Derek thought grimly. “Stay close,” he ordered, glancing at Isaac. “If the wind picks up, we could get lost. Don’t want to get separated, too.” 

He nodded. His eyes were bright with fear under the hat pulled low on his forehead. 

“We should check the parking lot first, see if they took the cars.” Derek glanced at the tracks, but they were so messy and disorganized, it’d be near impossible to follow them. Plus, it was snowing again, and the wind was high.

They walked together to the parking area.

Isaac huffed. “The agents’ car is still here. Where the hell are they?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t-”

A scream cut him off—a sound of pain and rage that cut through the wind’s howls.

“That’s Stiles.” He ran, barely remembering to let Isaac catch up to him.

The shout had come from the woods, but the wind was loud enough to disguise which direction exactly. 

Derek turned in a panicked circle, gripping his sleeves. Where _were_ they? They had Stiles and Laura, doing who knew what to them—something horrible enough to make Stiles scream like that. He started forward again; standing in one place wasn’t going to find them.

“Derek!” Isaac shouted. “The wind is getting worse!” He grabbed Derek’s arm. When he spun furiously on him, he let go and ducked away.

Derek held his hands out and low. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“We can’t keep wandering around like this,” he said instead of responding to that. “We can’t help them if we get lost!” 

“But-”

“No! Come on, if we go back to the inn, we can call the police. It’s the best we can do!” The wind whipped around them, cutting through their layers like so many knives. 

Derek rubbed his gloved hand over his eyes. He hadn’t felt this useless since the fire, since Laura had run past him, so determined to save their family that she’d had to be physically restrained by the firefighters. She’d punched one of them before they succeeded in stopping her. 

She was the strong one, she was the rescuer, she was the one who knew what to do, how to help people.

“Derek, please.” Isaac grabbed at his arm again. “I can’t even see the building anymore. We’ll call the police and tell them everything.” 

“Fine.” He looked around hopelessly; visibility _was_ pretty low. 

Isaac stuck close to his side, clearly afraid they’d get separated. 

Derek squinted, but he couldn’t see the inn. Just walls of snow, blown around by the harsh gusts of wind and basically blinding them. They couldn’t even find their own tracks to follow back.

“We have to be close, right?” Isaac tightened his scarf around his face. “We didn’t go that far.” 

Derek didn’t answer. He was afraid they were wandering further away but didn’t want to freak him out. He couldn’t believe he’d been so _stupid_ , running out of the house without a plan or a way to find his way back. Not only had he failed to help Stiles and Laura, but he’d endangered Isaac, too. They very well could die out here, probably yards from the inn. So damn stupid. 

Isaac gasped, his arms flying out.

Derek caught him before he could fall.

He looked down. “I think we’re on ice.”

Derek looked down and used the toe of his boot to scrape away the layer of snow. Underneath was slick, thin ice. He started swearing, vicious and low. He was such a goddamned idiot. He looked up, squinting around. “We’re on the lake. That blob, over to our right, is the woodshed. We can make it there.” 

Isaac was shaking his head. “The ice is too thin!”

“We have to. Just walk slow. Keep your eye on the shed and hold onto me. I’m heavier than you,” he said quickly. “If anyone is going to fall through, it’s me. You’re going to be fine.”

“I don’t want you to fall in either!” His voice was high with panic. 

“Then let’s start walking, slow and steady, come on.” He kept a grip on Isaac’s arm, as much to keep him moving as it was to be able to push him away if the ice _did_ break. 

The shed was becoming clearer when a sharp, heart-stopping crack cut through the howling wind.

Derek kept moving; standing on the broken ice didn’t seem like a smart way to stay dry. He had to tug sharply on Isaac’s arm to get him moving; fear had frozen him in place.

“Derek, I-” His hand wrenched out of Derek’s as he plunged into the water. 

Derek leaped, catching at his jacket to keep his upper half out. 

Isaac shoved at him. “I c-can stan-stand. Get-get away bef-f- _fore_ you fall in, too.” His scarf slipped down. He was only submerged from mid-thigh down, but in these temperatures, that was enough.

Derek muttered, “Fuck it,” and lunged forward. He grabbed Isaac under the shoulders and hauled him out. He didn’t give him a chance to fight. “Don’t talk. We have to get you inside.” 

Isaac just nodded, walking on numb legs like a newborn deer. 

They made it off the ice in good time, but Isaac was gripping Derek’s jacket to stay upright by then, trembling hard enough to shake both of them. 

Derek rocked back, trying to orient himself. If the shed was to his left, the inn should be a short walk diagonally to the right. He glanced at Isaac and sucked in a breath. Terror shot through him faster than the cold. “We have to get you inside. _Now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes another cliffhanger from my dramatic ass


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for torture in this chapter; it's much milder than the torture in some of my other fics but i know some people like to know <3

Stiles spat and grimaced as blood immediately filled his mouth again. He’d cut the inside of his lip against his teeth when big’n’dumb started punching him. He glared at them as much as he could with one eye swollen as it was. He knew the only reason he was still alive was because they didn’t have the negatives. They’d broken open his safe and were pissed the film wasn’t in there, just some cash and old prints.

They’d been trying to get him to tell them where they were since then; he was tied to a chair, which was _so_ clichéd he could laugh, and had taken turns knocking him around. 

“Do your hands get tired?” Stiles slurred. 

Big’n’mean turned on him. “What?” he barked. 

“You know.” He moved his chin to indicate his own battered body. “Punching bone hurts. Do you ever get, like, arthritis or have to get hand massages? Do you get manicures?” he asked seriously.

“You’re funny,” he said in a monotone. He knocked Stiles across the face, nearly tipping the chair. 

Stiles let his head hang, trying to convince his brain that they weren’t dying, just stunned. It wasn’t going well. 

He grabbed Stiles’s hair and yanked his head up. “Where are the negatives?”

“What in the _hell_ makes you think I would tell you?” he croaked. He blinked hard, then realized his vision wasn’t fading; blood was seeping over his left eye. “I tell you, you kill me. That’s basic math, numb nuts.”

His mouth twisted. He knocked Stiles’s head back, stepped away, and glared at him. “Yeah, fine, but your time left won’t hurt as much if you give us the negatives.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Stiles pretended to consider, then spat blood at his face. 

The man snarled and Stiles braced for another punch; he stomped hard on Stiles’s left foot. Bones snapped. 

He howled with agony, jerking back instinctively. His chair nearly tipped over.

The man’s boot resting heavily on his foot pinned him in place. 

“Jeff!” another man snarled, throwing the door open. He stomped over and righted Stiles’s chair. Cursing, he ushered “Jeff” out, leaving Stiles alone.

He gasped and sniffled, trying to force his mind off the throbbing agony of his foot. So running was barely an option anymore. He took a deep breath, tipping his head back until his eyes stopped watering. He looked around, trying to distract himself, but the room was utterly nondescript: wood walls, a single window, wood floors. It was probably some cabin in the woods near the inn. 

They hadn’t traveled far when they tossed him in the backseat of their SUV, but he hadn’t been able to see what direction they were going. 

He’d probably get lost and die from exposure if he got free. 

Hopelessness strangled him, closed his throat so effectively that he couldn’t even cry. He stared at the door and thought about his broken foot and how screwed he was. 

The door opened, making him jump. 

A huge, muscular man came in. He tossed someone into the room. He had cuts along his cheek, his eyes were bloodshot, and his head was bleeding sluggishly. 

Laura sat up and sneered at him.

Stiles’s breath hitched.

She looked at him. Her ankles were zip tied together. “I’m fine.” She yanked something off her wrist and threw it with some force at the man. 

He barely blinked when it bounced off his cheek. “Think about it, Miss Hale.” 

Stiles sniffed once, then twice. “Are you wearing perfume?”

“His eyes are,” Laura said smugly. 

The man didn’t look bothered; he just stared at them, and then left the room. 

Laura slumped forward, breathing harshly. “Sorry,” she said when he looked at her. “I think he broke my rib.” 

“Well, he looked terrible, so I’d say you put up a good fight.” 

She glanced at him and smirked. “Yeah, he zip tied me in the car, but only because I was unconscious. Once I got out of _those_ , I scratched his eyes and face. We hit three trees on the way here,” she said proudly.

Stiles managed a smile. “I’m sorry I dragged you guys into this.”

She scoffed. “I was not _dragged_ anywhere.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “Don’t blame yourself, okay, no ma-”

The door opened again. 

Stiles made himself smile. “Numb nuts!” 

He scowled. “You’ve still got another foot, Stilinski.” Then he turned to Laura. “Hale. We know you two are in a relationship. Tell us where he hid the negatives.”

For a moment, Laura’s face was perfectly blank. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Jeff shrugged. “But if you want to watch your boyfriend get beat up a little before you tell us, that’s fine.” He looked eager. 

Laura’s expression remained blank, thankfully. She did not try to correct him.

Stiles glared up at Jeff and reminded himself that they weren’t going to kill him until they found the negatives. 

Jeff punched him in the face. 

Blood poured over his mouth, but before he could do more than groan, another punch hit his jaw. His head snapped back, thumping against the back of the chair. 

The next hit landed on his stomach.

He curled forward, gagging and wheezing. 

This went on for several minutes; Stiles felt himself flickering in and out of consciousness. He heard Laura shouting obscenities. 

Someone stomped on his broken foot.

He screamed. Burning agony cut through all other injuries. 

“Stop it! I don’t know, I don’t know!” Laura’s voice was high and shaking. “I don’t know where they are, I swear! He never told me!”

Stiles rolled his head toward her. While Jeff had been working him over, the man who’d brought Laura had grabbed her by the arms, keeping her from going to Stiles. She had tears streaming down her face. 

Jeff backed off and sent Stiles an appraising look. “Huh.”

The man holding Laura jerked his head. 

Stiles’s breath came in harsh, rattling pants. He gasped, “No!”

Jeff stepped away from him.

Laura threw her chin up.

Jeff’s right hook knocked her head to the side. “Maybe Stilinski will tell us now.” He punched her again.

“Stop! She doesn’t know anything!”

“Oh, we believe that. We want you to tell us.”

Laura kicked out at Jeff—she managed to get him between the legs, sending him down like a ton of bricks. She spat on him. “Don’t tell them, Stiles, don’t you dare.”

Jeff surged up and backhanded her. 

Stiles had to watch.

It was terrible.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 LMK what you think

Derek carried Isaac into the kitchen, dripping snow and blood all over the floor. He ignored Isaac’s weak protests and set him on the table. “Fuck,” he muttered.

The left leg of Isaac’s jeans was soaked in blood. Whatever had cut him was narrow enough that Derek could barely see where the jeans were torn. 

Isaac braced his hands on the edge of the table and nodded. 

Derek carefully pulled the denim away from his skin, wincing when he hissed in pain, and started ripping. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed.

The gash went from mid-calf to mid-thigh on the outside of his leg; it looked like a piece of jagged ice had caught him as he was falling through. Blood was still leaking from it.

“Don’t move, I’m—I have to get gauze or towels or—something.” Derek skidded toward the kitchen door and nearly bowled over Peter. “Wh-”

“I saw the blood.” He brushed past Derek and dumped an armload of towels and a first aid kit beside Isaac’s good leg. “Help me with this. We need to stem the blood before you take him to the ER.”

Derek helped.

Once they’d wrapped as much of the wound as they could—it was narrow but seemed deep—and slowed the bleeding, Derek gave Isaac a Gatorade and went to wash his hands. 

“Where have _you_ been?” he asked, turning to glare at Peter. 

“Following the intruders, of course.” He made a face at his cell phone. “No signal, as usual. Agent McCall is keeping an eye on them and calling for backup.” He tossed his phone on the counter, disgusted. “Take Isaac to the hospital, and take Laura with you so that you’re all out of the way.”

Derek shook his head, sharing a panicked look with Isaac. “Laura’s gone, Peter. They took her, too.”

Peter’s face blanked, then paled. “What?” he snapped. “No, they didn’t. I was following them as soon as they took Stiles out. They never took Laura.” 

“Yes, they did,” Derek said carefully. After all the loss they’d suffered, he wasn’t sure how Peter would react to potentially losing Laura, too. He wasn’t sure how _he_ would react, either, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

“No.” Peter stormed out of the room. 

Derek went to Isaac. “I’m going to get you some sweats and blankets. Will you be okay for a minute?”

He nodded, but his eyes were glassy, his face ashen. 

Derek ran to his own room and grabbed sweatpants and a handful of blankets. Isaac had lost a lot of blood on top of falling into the frozen lake. He would need to be kept warm on the drive. Derek grabbed a sweater, too, and hurried back into the hallway.

Peter was carrying a limp, bloody body with him.

Derek felt the floor shift under him. His vision narrowed to the blood and swing of dark hair. 

“Derek!” Peter snapped. “You need to go! Agent Wilcox has been shot. She and Isaac need medical attention.”

Derek jerked, then got a look at the woman Peter was carrying.

Dark haired, yes, but wearing a bullet proof vest under a plaid shirt. She’d been shot on the outside of her shoulder, but who knew how long she’d been lying there, bleeding. 

He let out a breath, relief making him sag. “Take her to Isaac’s truck. I’ll go get him.” 

Peter nodded and rushed by. 

“You aren’t carrying me again!” Isaac protested as soon as Derek arrived. 

Derek shoved the sweater over his head. “Yes, I am. You can pay me back later,” he added, wrestling his arms through the sleeves. “Dump pudding in my bed or something, I don’t care. Agent Wilcox is also injured,” he continued when Isaac tried to argue again. “We don’t have time. You both need doctors and an ambulance won’t be able to get here in the blizzard.” He shook the sweats at him. 

Isaac grimaced, sighed, and nodded. “Alright. You’ll need to drive my truck. Keys are in my jeans.” He took the sweatpants and got to work putting them on. 

Derek grabbed the jeans and dug the keys and Isaac’s wallet out. He shoved them both into his pocket. He helped Isaac get the sweats on over the bulky towels and gauze, then lifted him.

He stifled a shout of pain. “I guess the numbness wore off,” he said through his teeth.

“I’m sorry. You’re going to be okay. They’ll give you the good stuff at the hospital,” he told him as he began walking. 

“I know.” He let out a breathless whimper when they got outside.

Derek rushed for the truck.


	37. Chapter 37

“Stop it! Stop, stop, leave her alone! She wasn’t involved, stop!” Stiles’s shouting wavered as he struggled against his bonds. “She never even saw them!” 

“You can give us the negatives,” the man with his hand on Laura’s hair said. “We’ll stop if you do.”

“Don’t,” Laura croaked. Her throat felt awful. “Don’t tell them, Stiles.”

“Shut up, bitch.” He backhanded her again, but this time she was ready. 

Her teeth latched onto his forefinger. She bit down hard, clenching her jaw as tightly as she could. Blood filled her mouth, but she held on despite her disgust.

He shouted in pain, yanking ineffectively at his hand.

The man keeping her in place reached around calmly, hooked his thumb in beside the other’s finger, and yanked down, forcing her jaw open. 

He ripped his hand away. “Fucking bitch,” he snarled. He punched her in the stomach. 

“That’s enough,” the man holding her said. “You two think about it. We’ll be back.” He released her.

She was ashamed when her legs collapsed under her. She was aware of Stiles shouting at them, of the door slamming, but she couldn’t understand what it meant. She focused on forcing her body to breathe. She took one shallow breath, then another, until she could inhale without feeling like she was going to die. She made herself sit up. She used the heels of her hands to wipe her eyes and cheeks. She was swollen and bruised, but aside from the rib she was pretty sure was cracked, they hadn’t done too much actual damage. She looked at Stiles. 

He was watching her, looking sick with guilt. “Laura…”

“You aren’t telling them.”

He choked out a laugh. “That’s why I’m sorry.” He swallowed. “See, I can’t tell them where the negatives are. They’re—they’re in the safest place I know.” Two tears spilled from his eyes. “If I’d known they’d bring you, I’d have put them somewhere else.” 

She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. We aren’t telling them shit. We can take it.”

He shot her a weak smile. He looked terrible, especially the cut over his left eye. 

Laura pulled her credit card out of her back pocket. “They didn’t search me.” 

“And you’re going to use your Discover card to cut their throats.” 

She scowled at him, then glared when that made him laugh.

“Sorry, it’s just—I finally see the family resemblance.” 

“For your information, I am very-” she used the corner of the card to press the locking bar of the zip tie around her ankles down, freeing herself- “resourceful.” She yanked her feet free. 

His brows went up. “Wow. Is that the second zip tie you’ve broken out of today?”

“Yep. My shoelaces are made of paracord,” she explained. It took her a minute to get to her feet, wheezing over her stupid ribs. She stuck the credit card in her pocket. After a second of consideration, she put the zip tie with it. Maybe they could use it on their captors. 

“Were you an eagle scout?” Stiles wondered. 

She snorted. “No. I’m a woman.”

“That’s—true?” He looked confused. 

She rolled her eyes. “We grew up in entirely different worlds. Now don’t move, I’m going to try to get the duct tape off your wrists.”

He went still.

She crouched behind him and got to work. “I’m thinking we use this chair once you’re off it. Break it up.”

“Good idea.”

“That window might be a good way to escape, but they have guns.” Her hands fumbled. “They shot Agent Wilcox.”

Stiles flinched. “And Agent McCall?”

She leaned around, trying to see his face. “I didn’t see him.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Um, as far as the window, you’d be better off making a run for it without me. My foot is broken, so I’m not sure I can run. Plus, they want me. You were just convenient leverage.”

She glared at him. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You should,” he muttered. “You could go get help.”

“Not happening.” She ripped the last of the tape off, ignoring his muffled yelp. She moved around and got to work on the tape on his right leg.

He bent over and started on the left. 

“What we’re going to do is break this chair up and use it as a weapon. If we can get one of them down, we’ll have access to all of his weapons—his gun, keys, maybe even a knife. That’s why we can’t run. They have guns and vehicles, so they’d catch us too easily.” She swallowed. She hoped Derek and Isaac were safe. And Peter, god, where had Peter gone? Had they grabbed him, too? It seemed more likely that he’d noticed the commotion and hidden, or maybe grabbed one of the intruders to question. Maybe he was with Agent McCall.

“Laura?” Stiles’s voice was soft.

“Hmm, yeah?” She wiped her eyes quickly before looking up. 

“I’m sorry. Don’t,” he said when she tried to protest again. “Please, just…I’m sorry for bringing this stuff to your home, for risking your lives because I liked it here. It was selfish of me to stay.”

She stared at him. “Okay. I accept your apology. But you need to remember that they had no idea where you were until I started looking into your identity. I could have bowed out at any point, but that’s not who I am. So, yeah, they were after you anyway, but I knew what I was doing. We’re going to be fine,” she added briskly. She finished ripping the tape off his leg. “Now help me destroy this chair.”

Stiles smiled.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! <3

The staff at the Charmed Basin Hospital leaped into action when Derek came inside with a bloody, unconscious woman in his arms. He spared only enough time to show them where her wound was before running back to the car to get Isaac.

His mouth was blue and he was shivering hard; he was still bleeding, and barely able to keep his head up as Derek carried him inside. 

An orderly met him with a wheelchair immediately. 

“Derek,” Isaac said, panicked, as he was being wheeled away. “Derek, stay with me.”

“I’m right here, I’ll come with, don’t worry.”

Someone shoved a clipboard in his hands. “If you’re coming, you’ll have to fill that out.” 

When they took Isaac into a room, he was made to wait outside; Isaac wasn’t happy, but the nurses insisted. 

Derek stared down at the paperwork blankly, then shook himself. He knew most of the answers. Some he found in Isaac’s wallet. Others he was forced to leave blank.

“Sir?” 

He looked up.

The orderly looked anxious. “Do you have any information about the woman you brought in?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. She’s a guest at my inn, I don’t know more than her last name.”

She nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

A nurse popped out of Isaac’s room. “Sir, could you come in here? Your brother is upset.”

The orderly took Isaac’s paperwork.

Derek went in.

Isaac was pale and panicked, fighting against the nurses trying to do their jobs.

Derek went to his bedside. “Calm down, they’re just trying to look at it.” He caught his arm and lowered it.

He stared at him blankly, but he’d stopped fighting.

“What happened, Mr. Lahey? Can you tell us?”

He looked down at the woman speaking. “Fell through ice.”

She glanced at the cut. “I see. Please don’t hit my nurses while we examine the wound.”

Derek held onto his hand in an effort to keep him calm while the doctor prodded at the gash.

When it was clear the wound needed staples, the doctor called someone to administer an anesthetic to Isaac. 

“Normally, we’d do a local, but it’s a long, deep wound. We can’t risk him flinching if it starts to wear off,” Dr. Deschenes explained. “You can wait in the hall, if you’d like. We’ll come get you when he’s all done.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at Isaac’s face once before going into the hall.

Shouting erupted to the left.

He closed his eyes and wondered what the odds were that it had nothing to do with him.

“Hale!”

Zero. The odds were nothing. 

He looked up. 

Agent Wilcox was hobbling toward him, ignoring the nurse trying to drag her back to her room. She was wearing her own jeans, a single boot, and half of a hospital gown.

Derek went to her. “You’re supposed to-” He noticed her shoulder was still bleeding. “You didn’t even let them treat you!”

“Never mind that! Were we followed?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. You were both bleeding, I didn’t exactly consider evasive driving.”

She swore. “Did Agent McCall return before we left?”

“No. Peter said he was calling for backup.” 

“Excuse me!” the nurse shouted. “You need to get back to your room, you have been _shot_.” 

Wilcox whirled on her. “I am a _federal agent._ Someone is trying to kill us, this is more important.” 

The nurse drew herself up. “I am a _nurse_ , you are in _my_ hospital, and you _will_ go back to your room.”

Wilcox stared at her, mouth agape. “The bullet didn’t go in,” she protested. “It grazed me.”

“You were unconscious.”

“Because he hit me!”

The nurse’s eyes sharpened. “You have head trauma?”

She said, “No,” instantly, but the nurse wasn’t having it.

“Back to your room _now_ , or I will have to restrain you.”

“I have to call my superiors.”

“You’ll do it in your room.” She began shuffling Wilcox away.

“Hale!” She twisted to look at him. “They have Stilinski in a cabin somewhere close to the inn, that’s where McCall sent his last message from.” 

The nurse shoved her into a room down the hall.

Derek shook his head, yanking his hand through his hair and knocking his hat off. He bent to grab it and realized it wasn’t even his. He’d gotten his winter gear on in a hurry, so it wasn’t surprising that he’d grabbed Stiles’s hat by mistake. He blew out a breath and leaned against the wall outside of Isaac’s room.

He put a hand over his mouth, trying to control his thoughts. 

They were going to kill Stiles and Laura. Maybe Peter if he got caught. 

Derek and Isaac would be all that was left. 

He clenched his jaw as fear and grief threatened to crush him. He was about to lose everyone again.

“Mr. Hale? Isaac is awake and asking for you.” Dr. Deschenes smiled at him. “We’ve finished with his leg. He lost a lot of blood and the dip in the lake didn’t help. We’re keeping him overnight to keep an eye on him and make sure he gets enough fluids. He’s still a little confused,” she added.

“Alright.”

She stepped aside to let him in. 

Isaac was propped up on his bed, eyes glazed but no longer panicked. He blinked slowly at Derek. “They said they’re moving me to a different room.”

“That’s so they can keep an eye on you.”

He nodded. “Where’s Laura?” He sounded lost and sleepy.

Derek had to clear his throat before answering. “Still missing.”

“Oh.” His eyes began to droop. “Okay. Are you going to stay with me?”

“Yeah. I just have to check with Agent Wilcox, but I’ll be here still, and I’ll come back when I’m done.” 

“Okay.” With a sigh, he settled back and fell asleep.

Derek squeezed his fists at his sides. With a low curse, he went back to the hall. He had to stay with Isaac; there wasn’t anything for him to do for Stiles and Laura. He couldn’t even find where they were. 

There were several cabins just off the property; by the time he found the right one, it could be over, one way or another. 

His skin felt too tight, the air too thick to breathe. He turned on his heel and stalked toward the door to the waiting room. He needed some air, he needed to clear his head before he went crazy just sitting here. He thrust his hands in his jacket pockets and stopped walking. He frowned and closed his hand around the hard lump in his left pocket and pulled it out. 

It was a piece of paper wrapped tightly around a film canister. 

He let out a shaky sigh and unwrapped the paper. 

_Derek,_ it read, _I love you. Thank you for everything. Call this number and tell him everything. When the police arrive, give them the negatives, take your family, and run. Don’t try to help me. –S S_

“Fuck.” He shoved the film back in his pocket and crumpled the note in his hand. He wanted to hit something, break it to pieces. How _dare_ Stiles just leave him like this? With just a note and the pictures he was basically giving his life for, no explanation for anything, no warning. 

He opened the note again and ran his thumb over the words _I love you._ He took a deep breath and got his cell phone out. He looked around and found a bathroom to duck into, clicking the lock behind him.

The number he dialed was somewhere in California. It rang three times before a man answered, “ _Sheriff Stilinski._ ” 

What had Laura said Stiles’s real name was? M-something Stilinski? 

Derek mouthed wordlessly. 

“ _Hello?_ ” 

“Hello,” he rasped. “I’m here. I—my name is Derek Hale.” He couldn’t manage more than that.

A beat of silence. “ _What can I do for you, Mr. Hale?_ ” 

He looked at the note. Took a deep breath. “Stiles asked me to call you. They—they took him,” he croaked. 

The sheriff was quiet a moment. “ _Who?_ ” he asked stiffly.

Derek knew Sheriff Stilinski must be in protective custody, too, so he spilled everything, as quickly as he could. He didn’t want Sheriff Stilinski’s handler to end the call. “-and I’m in the Charmed Basin hospital, and you guys need to get here _fast._ ”

“ _I’ll be there,_ ” Sheriff Stilinski replied.

A quiet voice protested in the background. 

“ _I_ said _I’m going. They have my son._ ” The sheriff continued into the phone, “ _I’ll be there as soon as possible, Mr. Hale._ ”

“Okay.” He put his phone in his pocket. The police were on their way. Maybe not the Charmed Basin County Police, but law enforcement of _some_ kind. Even if McCall hadn’t managed to contact backup, at least someone was coming.

After the staff had moved Isaac to the second floor, Derek figured he’d better go let Wilcox know about Sheriff Stilinski. He found out she’d been moved to the second floor as well; they only told him because Wilcox—whose first name turned out to be _Kyla_ —had insisted they tell him if he asked. The nurses insisted on seeing his ID before they told him anything, which he understood. 

She was sitting on the edge of her bed when he got there. She had lumpy bandages on the side of her shoulder and one on her head where the skin had split, and she was wearing a rumpled hospital gown.

“So?” she demanded. “Are they releasing me?”

“Uh, no. They told me to tell you that you’re staying overnight.”

She bared her teeth. She huffed. “Fine. McCall probably has backup on the way already anyway.”

“Right.” Derek hoped so. He started to tell her about the sheriff, but she interrupted him. 

“How’s your brother?”

“He’s okay. They had to staple his leg closed, so he’s kind of out of it. He has to st-”

Someone grabbed Derek’s arm and yanked him off balance. She pulled his arm down, twisting, and slammed it over her thigh. The resultant _crack_ made him shout, pain zipping up and down his entire arm.

The woman left him, already moving on to Wilcox. 

Derek tried to go after her, but his broken arm left him off-balance. Sweat poured down his face. 

The door slammed closed. A belt wrapped around his throat from behind. It tightened, pulling him backwards and cutting off his shout. 

He clawed at the leather, kicking his legs as he struggled. 

Across the room, Wilcox slammed the woman head-first against the window ledge. Twice. She dropped her.

Derek tried to wrest the belt away from his neck. He threw his head back, but whoever had him was standing out of the way. 

Wilcox didn’t say a word. She lunged at them, her weight throwing both Derek and his attacker back against the door. 

The attacker grunted, then yelled in pain. 

The belt loosened.

Derek stumbled away, sucking in air. He threw the belt to the floor. He turned.

Wilcox was wiping blood off her fingers and onto the shirt of the man who’d been strangling him. 

“What’d you do to him?” he rasped.

“He’s only unconscious. He’s one of Turner’s favorites.” She curled her lip. “I’ll get some nurses in here.”

Derek looked at his arm, then away. It was agonizing, bent and wrong and useless. 

“We’re going to have to involve the local police, damn it,” she muttered. “I don’t know how they found us here so fast. Fuck.”

Derek grimaced. “Uh, there are police on their way.”

“Oh?”

He took the note out of his pocket. “Stiles must have put this in my pocket at some point.”

She glanced over it. Her gaze jumped up to him. “He gave you the negatives?”

“Yes.” He braced for her to ask for them; he wasn’t handing them over.

She nodded. “Good.” 

The hospital staff were scarily efficient at detaining criminals while the police made their way to retrieve them. Derek stayed quiet while they set and casted his arm, too tired to do more than answer their questions about his information. He just hoped everyone arrived on time, before anyone died.


	39. Chapter 39

They’d been alone for hours. Stiles wasn’t complaining—the break was nice—but Laura was. With every passing minute, she grew tenser. 

“They’re hoping we’ll relax,” she said ominously. “Then they can come and ambush us when we’re not ready for them.” She was pacing and doing stretches in turns, trying to pretend her rib wasn’t bothering her.

Stiles wasn’t able to join her. He could barely stand up as it was, so his part of the plan was to act as a distraction.

Laura was near the door, pieces of the chair at the ready like weapons.

“Look.” Stiles held his hands up when she whipped around to face him. “I really think you should go through the window while you can. It might be our only chance.”

She shook her head. “Not happening.” She relaxed her grip slightly and frowned. “The blizzard has been raging since _last night._ For hours. I’ve only got this sweater on. I wouldn’t make it for long. So it’s not just me being stubborn.”

Stiles glanced involuntarily at the window, but all he could see was a wall of shifting gray and white. “Yeah, okay.”

She nodded and went back to guarding the door.

Stiles’s head throbbed. 

The light began changing depth as they waited, like it was creeping toward sunrise. That meant they’d been here since just before two in the afternoon the previous day. 

The floor creaked. 

Stiles blinked and readied himself.

Laura shifted her grip on the chair leg, muscles braced. 

The door opened.

Stiles started yelling.

Laura swung the leg at the head of their captor while he was facing Stiles. 

She hit him again, then again before he could react.

He toppled.

Stiles lunged forward, dragging him into the room. He had to stifle sounds of pain as he jostled his injured foot. 

Laura dropped beside him to help search his pockets.

A shadow fell over them.

They froze.

Laura made eye contact with Stiles. She twisted and lunged at whoever was in the door. She yelped as they swung. She dropped gracelessly, holding her mouth

Stiles looked up. His breath caught.

Deucalion Turner waved at him with the gun he’d hit Laura with. “Hello, Mr. Stilinski. It’s been a while. Jeff, close the door,” he ordered. 

The door shut behind him.

“I-”

“Shut-up,” Deucalion said. “I have wasted entirely too much time, money, and man power on _you._ I have had enough. Give me the negatives.”

Stiles looked him in the eye. “No.”

“Fine.” He didn’t seem surprised. “As I said, I’ve used far too many of my resources on an annoyance such as yourself. So here’s what I’m going to do.”

Stiles glanced at Laura, to see if Deucalion really was going to do the villain monologue or if Stiles was having some sort of auditory hallucination. 

Judging by Laura’s expression, Deucalion really was telling him his plans.

“I’m going to be boarding a plane to Rome in two hours, where I’ve been for six weeks. Which means I can’t have had anything to do with your death. When I am called for trial, the photos will be discovered to have been faked, however my employee wants to spin that. The Hales will have had a tragic incident,” he added. “Not that it’s related in any way. Perhaps they fell into the lake while wandering in a blizzard.”

“Fuck _you,_ ” Laura declared, and threw herself at him again.

Stiles leaped. He felt a brief moment of blinding pain from his foot, the broken bones sliding awkwardly under the skin, but he didn’t care. He caught Deucalion’s gun hand and managed to point it up before he squeezed the trigger. 

The window shattered. 

Smoke billowed in.

Deucalion stomped on Stiles’s broken foot, drawing a short scream from him.

Someone dragged Laura away, through the smoke that was rapidly filling the room.

“Laura!” Stiles tried to run after her.

Deucalion tackled him, crushing him painfully to the floor. “No! You have cost me. Too! Much!”

Stiles twisted and swung.

Deucalion batted his arm away. He got his hands around Stiles’s throat and began to squeeze. “You and the Hales are dead.”

Stiles stopped scrabbling at his hands and scratched at his eyes, until he drew blood. His vision pulsed with his heartbeat. He felt his arms weakening as he failed to bring in air. His arms dropped. 

“—under arrest for attempted murder, assault, fraud, suspicion of homicide, and smuggling. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law-”

“Stiles, Stiles, wake up,” Laura sobbed, patting frantically at his face. 

Stiles blinked once, then twice. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to make words. 

Scott leaned into his line of vision then. “Turner is in custody. He’s going to jail. We’ve got someone on the way to get you guys to the hospital-”

“I will drive them. I told you, an ambulance won’t make the drive.”

“Peter’s right,” Laura said hoarsely. “Has anyone seen Derek and Isaac?” Her voice trembled.

“Derek took Isaac and Agent Wilcox to the ER.”

Stiles closed his eyes, listening to them discuss what came next. He drifted, wondering why Isaac had been taken to the ER, and where Peter had come from. He felt hands on him but couldn’t bother to open his eyes.

Laura was holding his hand. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so close to the end. I'm excited. Friday, the last two chapters will be up! And then Sunday, the next fic will go up, but I'll explain more on that later. <3

Laura’s rib was cracked. Somehow, she’d escaped from a murdering millionaire with her worst injury being a cracked rib. She was grateful, exhausted, and _sore_ , just sore everywhere. Her nurse let her go after giving her a mild painkiller, but it wasn’t like she was going far. Her brothers were here, too. 

Peter met her in the hall. “Isaac’s on the second floor. Derek’s with him.” 

She followed him to the elevator. 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked when they were closed in alone.

She took a shuddering breath. “Oh, it’s back to therapy for sure.” She rolled her eyes to try to dispel the tension. “At least I know a good one.”

Peter studied her face. When she reached to brush her lank hair off her cheek, he caught her wrist. “Zip tie?” he asked, studying the bruising.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “You taught all of us how to get out of them when I was twelve.” Her throat ached at the memory of her lost sisters and cousins, of the day they’d been watching the news about young women being abducted and later found dead. 

Peter had gone out and returned with a bag of zip ties. He’d taken the girls out to the yard and taught them all how to get out of them in a variety of ways. He promised to teach the boys next but had wanted to show the girls first. Just in case.

“I remember.” He brushed a thumb over the bruise before letting her go. “I assume the broken nails and the badly damaged vehicle outside of the cabin have to do with that zip tie you escaped from.”

She found herself laughing which, frankly, hurt. “Yeah. He wasn’t expecting me to get out. I fought him every step of the way.”

Peter nodded. “Always the fighter.”

“Always.”

Isaac was just waking up when they got to his room. 

Laura was so happy to see him alive she almost forgot to ask why he was there in the first place. 

“I fell through the ice on the lake.” He grimaced and flipped the blanket off his left leg. It was all covered in gauze, which he peeled back to expose a long line of staples. 

Laura gasped. “Oh my _god_.”

“I bled a lot.”

“I bet. You’re not moving,” she decided. “When we go home, you’re staying in your room and not moving until those staples come out.”

He frowned at her. “They didn’t say I couldn’t walk on it.”

“Did they say you could?” Peter asked, making his frown deepen.

Laura shook her head. “I’m going to go find someone to ask. I’ll be right back.” She left them bickering about semantics, swiveling around the find a nurse who knew what was going on with Isaac. She spotted Derek instead.

He was down the hall speaking to a man in a rumpled khaki uniform, looking exhausted and-

“What happened to you?” she demanded, marching toward him. She registered the uniformed man tensing, but she only had eyes for the bruises around her little brother’s throat, the violently pink cast on his left arm.

“She’s my sister, Sheriff,” Derek said quickly. 

The man relaxed. “I see. Your brother was attacked by a man named Ennis Blackwell, an associate of Deucalion Turner’s.”

Laura gaped. “ _Why?_ I thought you guys were _safe_.”

“We were. Mostly. Wilcox took them down.”

“She’s _alive?_ ” Laura vaguely remembered Peter mentioning her, but she’d been thinking Stiles had been killed just feet from her at the time, and hadn’t been listening.

“Yeah.” Derek scratched his cheek. He looked down, then at Laura, then the sheriff. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “It’s just a lot of bruising. And one cracked rib.”

“You look pretty bad.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes and hugged him.

He hugged her back delicately, mindful of her injuries. “They give you painkillers?”

“Not the good ones.” 

He chuckled and stepped back. “Sheriff Stilinski, I think-”

Laura choked. “ _Stilinski?_ Are you Stiles’s _father?_ ” 

He looked bemused. “Yes.”

“Did—did anyone tell you—aren’t you supposed to be-”

“Agent McCall told me Stiles is here, and what room he’s being treated in. Two of my deputies and two of Scott’s agents are guarding him. And yes,” he added with a pained grimace, “I am supposed to be in witness protection.” 

Laura sagged. “Okay. They arrested everyone at the scene, but—I don’t think he should be alone yet.”

“Was he very badly hurt?” Derek’s voice was stiff in an effort to hide how worried he was.

Judging by the look on Sheriff Stilinski’s face, he wasn’t any more fooled than Laura was. 

“He’s bruised up, like I am. Plus his foot is broken.”

Derek’s eyes widened.

“He’s okay, though. Mostly.” She grimaced. “Let’s go see Uncle Peter and Isaac.” 

Peter didn’t look pleased about Derek’s arm or bruises, either, but he refrained from commenting when he noticed Sheriff Stilinski enter the room right behind them. 

Derek tossed Isaac a warm can of soda and teased him for complaining about it.

“Miss Hale,” Sheriff Stilinski began.

“You can call me Laura.” She crossed her arms, winced, and dropped them again.

He nodded agreeably. “You’ll have to give a statement soon. If you don’t feel up to it, I understand. I can hold them off until tomorrow, but not much longer.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I can do it now. I want to get it over with.”

He looked concerned. “Alright. They’re going to want statements from all of you.”

She looked over at Isaac, who was poking Peter with a Sharpie, trying to entice him to sign Derek’s cast. She sighed. “We’d might as well get it done with today.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded. “Alright,” he repeated. “One of the agents Scott brought is going to take your statement. I’ll let them know you’re ready.”

She nodded. When he left, she went over to Isaac’s bed. “How did ice do that?” She gestured at the long line of gauze.

“I don’t know. I just fell through. The water made me so numb I didn’t even notice it. Derek’s the one who noticed all the blood.”

“Hard not to.” He shrugged.

Isaac grinned. “He scooped me up and carried me home. It was like being in a Nicholas Sparks novel.” He fluttered his lashes.

Derek hit him in the face with his own pillow. 

Sheriff Stilinski returned. “They’re ready for you.”

Laura followed him to an unused conference room the hospital had lent the agents. She hesitated outside the door. She hadn’t given a statement like this since the fire. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

She looked between Sheriff Stilinski’s face, creased with almost paternal concern, and the agent waiting inside who looked bored. “Please?”

“Of course.” He went inside with her.

Sheriff Stilinski stayed while all of them were questioned. He and Derek had already spent a few hours together, and he’d met Isaac briefly, so they were comfortable with his company. 

It was nearing noon when they finished giving all of their statements, even Peter. Isaac was protesting about his lunch already. “This is gross.”

“If you eat it all, I’ll cook whatever you want when we get home.” Derek grinned.

Isaac sighed, put upon, and started picking at his sandwich. 

A knock at the door made Laura flinch; only Peter’s hand on her shoulder kept her from jumping to her feet. 

Sheriff Stilinski waved them all back and went to answer the door. “Scott,” he said tersely. 

Agent McCall smiled uneasily. “Stiles is awake. We’ll need his statement, but for now, you all can go see him if you want.”

Laura sucked in a breath. She was about to tell Sheriff Stilinski to go see him, and that she’d keep everyone in here for the moment, but a curious sensation overtook her. Her throat tightened, her eyes burned. She burst into tears. She heard everyone start speaking frantically, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. She covered her face.

“No, go on. She’s okay. Give her a few minutes. Go see Stiles. That’s what the wheelchair is for.”

Laura pressed her palms into her eyes. She couldn’t stop _sobbing._ She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. “S-sorry,” she blubbered. 

Sheriff Stilinski squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t be. You’ve had a hell of a night.” 

She felt more tears running down her face. She shook her head, swallowing another sob. “It’s my fault. I led them to him.”

“They were already trying to find him, Laura,” he said gently. “It wasn’t your fault. It was Deucalion Turner’s fault and besides, Stiles isn’t that badly hurt. Some stitches, a cast. From what I heard, it would’ve been a lot worse if you weren’t there.” 

She shook her head again, but she couldn’t form words.

Sheriff Stilinski sighed and scooped her into a firm, warm hug, holding her tight around the shoulders as she sobbed. 

It reminded her of her own father comforting her over whatever had upset her—a slight from a crush at school, a fight with her best friend, Derek telling her she was a terrible cook. She clung tighter, squeezing her eyes shut and wallowing for just a moment in the memory. She leaned back, wiping her eyes and fighting off humiliation. “Thank you. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” He straightened up. “Come on. Stiles will want to see you.” 

Her gaze dipped away. “I’m not sure…”

“He will.” He held his hand out.

Laura took it.


	41. Chapter 41

Stiles was groggy, and vaguely aware of pain lurking somewhere. He must have been given something to keep it at bay. He blinked a couple times after Scott had left to get “everyone”. His head was killing him. 

A nurse came in. “Hey, Mr. Stilinski. Dr. Deschenes will be here in a few to fill you in. I’m just checking a couple things.” He started asking Stiles questions.

Stiles realized by the third one that he must have a concussion; they were checking his memory.

“Alright. She’ll be in to see you in a minute.”

“’Kay.” He fiddled with the buttons on his bed until he figured out how to sit up. His head throbbed a couple times in protest, but it slid away soon enough.

Dr. Deschenes was an older woman who briskly filled Stiles in on his injuries and called him “Mr. Stilinski” even after he’d weakly told her she could call him Stiles. “And you’ll be staying overnight,” she finished. “We’d like to keep an eye on you, and the FBI has informed us you’re under protective custody, so they want you here.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not to walk on that foot until we get you into a boot and some crutches. Got it?”

“Yes, doctor,” he said solemnly.

She smiled. “Good. You’ve visitors.” She opened the door.

Scott came in, leading Derek in. Behind him was Isaac in a wheelchair, pushed by Peter Hale. 

Derek had a cast on his arm.

“What happened?” Stiles croaked, stricken.

“Isaac tried to go for a swim,” Derek said dryly.

“I got cut on the ice.” He moved the blanket off his lap to show a long, stapled gash on his leg. He gestured at Stiles and grinned. “We match!”

Stiles touched his forehead; Dr. Deschenes had said he’d gotten fifteen stitches to the cut on his head. He winced when he felt them a few inches above his left eye.

Derek moved out from behind Scott. He had bruises around his throat.

Stiles’s hand jumped to his mouth in horror. “Jesus,” he muttered. Guilt settled heavy in his stomach. “Derek, I-”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His voice was as raspy as Stiles’s was.

Dr. Deschenes backed toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours to discuss any questions you have.” 

Peter watched her as she left, then looked back at Stiles. “Laura said you held up very well,” he said. “That you never gave them what they wanted.”

“I couldn’t.” Stiles swallowed and glanced at Derek. “I couldn’t tell them where the negatives were.”

Peter hummed.

Isaac looked around, brows furrowed. 

“I think your CNA is looking for you,” Peter said, and wheeled Isaac into the hall. 

His protests echoed. 

Scott glanced between Derek and Stiles and stepped out of the room.

Stiles peeked at Derek’s face. “I’m sorry I got you hurt. I thought you’d be-”

“I’m fine. Really.” Derek’s expression was unreadable.

Stiles swallowed, thinking about what he’d written in the note. “I-”

“We should talk.” He took a piece of paper out of his pocket.

Stiles’s heart dropped. “Oh.”

Before anything else could be said, Laura walked in. She looked awful, bruised and exhausted; her eyes were bloodshot and swollen like she’d been crying. 

Someone walked in behind her.

Stiles’s heart leaped. He couldn’t see more than a flash of khaki and light hair, the way the person moved, but he _knew_. “Dad!” 

He leaned around Laura and winced. “Boy, you keep trying to find new ways to give me a heart attack.”

Stiles winced. “I…” He sniffled, then gave up and let the tears flow. “I missed you. I’m sorry for all this, I’m sorry.”

John crossed to him and wrapped him up in a tight hug.

Stiles pressed his face into his shoulder and clung to him. He’d never gone so long without seeing or speaking to his father. He never wanted to go that long again. 

He thought about what Derek had said. _We should talk._ That was almost never a good thing. He closed his eyes. He would think about that later. 

“Sorry,” Scott’s voice said suddenly. “But I have to update you.”

Stiles leaned back reluctantly. 

“I’ll go check on Peter and Isaac,” Derek murmured. He left the room.

Stiles dropped his gaze. 

Scott cleared his throat. “Turner is in jail. The negatives are safe, in evidence and well-protected. All of Turner’s assets have been frozen. Most of his associates have been arrested and are on their way to prison for multiple violent crimes.” He held his hands out. “You’re still in danger—Turner has no money to pay anyone, but he might have someone willing to go after you even after he’s been convicted, though the chances of that are slim. Most people will want to distance themselves from him before they can be implicated.” 

“Oh.” Exhaustion settled over him like a lead blanket. Running again. Hiding and looking over his shoulder, sequestered away from everyone he loved. 

“You’re pretty safe here,” Scott said after a moment. “With Turner unable to communicate with anyone and his stuff locked up, it’d be hard for anyone to figure out where you are. You can continue your protective custody here, if you want.”

“Yes!” Laura blurted.

Stiles glanced at the door. “Maybe,” he muttered. He’d have to know what Derek wanted to talk about first. 

If Derek broke his heart, he didn’t think he could stay here, with him but not _with him._ It would be too hard. Not that he could blame him. Stiles had brought nothing but pain and danger to his family. 

“If Stiles stays, I’m staying,” John said.

Laura clapped. “Perfect! You guys can stay at the inn. Sheriff, the celadon room is perfect for you, lots of space and a door to the garden. You’ll love it. The inn is a complete disaster right now I’m sure but once I get it cleaned up-”

“You’re sporting a broken rib,” John cut in. “You will be resting. I’m sure we can find a cleaning service to deal with it until you’re healed up.”

Stiles twisted his blanket around his fingers. 

_We should talk._

He closed his eyes.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're at the end! I hope it was cheesy enough for everyone! Let me know what you think! I know the writing style was different from my normal, and the next few will also be different from that, too, so I guess I hope it goes well! The posting schedule for the next fic will either be found in chapter one or at the bottom of this if you'd like it.

Everyone was released from the hospital the next day, in stages. They left with prescriptions for pain meds and care instructions for their various bandages, braces, casts, staples, and stitches. 

Isaac was put on bed rest for another full day, and then he was only allowed to walk around a little, using a crutch. 

Laura was instructed to take it easy, as if she knew the meaning of those words in that order. 

Stiles was given a boot around his broken foot and a set of crutches, also being told to rest and not walk on it. 

Derek had been told to rest his throat, drink warm liquids, and rest his arm.

They all migrated to the Mystic split into Peter’s car, Isaac’s truck, and the SUV Sheriff Stilinski had rented. The deputies Sheriff Stilinski had brought with him were thanked profusely for their help and sent home.

“I’m going to call a cleaning company,” Laura said heavily upon entering the inn. She did not look pleased.

Derek winced.

Mud and blood tracked from the front door to the kitchen.

“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll do that?” Sheriff Stilinski suggested. He shooed everyone to the living room.

Laura turned on the radio while Peter got a fire going.  
“Why don’t you tell us what happened on your end, Peter?” Laura sat on the couch carefully, pressing a hand to her torso and wincing.

Peter straightened up. “I noticed people in here too late, so I followed them when they took Stiles. Agent McCall came with me. When I returned from helping Derek and Isaac, McCall had already called backup. They had started beating you by that point,” he added.

Derek glared at the reminder. He noticed Stiles shrink in his seat. 

“But since they wanted you alive, we decided it was best to wait until we had help, and we planned on it. Turner arrived just before Agent McCall’s colleagues. We went in first because by that point, Turner had decided to kill you and Stiles.” He opened his hands in front of him. “The others arrived after the smoke bomb went off, and we took you to the hospital. After you kicked Turner in the face to get him off Stiles, of course.”

Laura nodded. 

Derek looked at Stiles, but he was staring down at his lap, shoulders hunched. 

“Okay, I’ve got a group called Trucking Maids on their way.” Sheriff Stilinski sounded baffled. “They said they’d be here in thirty, even though I told them it could wait until the roads were cleared.”

Laura giggled. “Could I see where you found their number, Sheriff?” She tilted his phone when he held it out to her, then tapped something. “‘All-weather cleaning service’,” she read. “Huh.”

“I’m going to make lunch,” Derek said. When everyone turned to stare at him, he shrugged. “Unless no one is hungry?”

“No, we are!” Isaac protested. “You promised you’d make chicken parmesan for me!”

“I will, I will.” He backed up a step. “I’ll just…go get that started.” He glanced at Stiles before he left the room.

The kitchen was a mess.

He sighed, annoyed that he’d forgotten. He found some cling-wrap in a cabinet and wrapped up his cast before he got to work cleaning it up. 

His arm started throbbing halfway through, but he made himself finish anyway. Once the table and counters were sanitized of the blood from Isaac, he washed his hand and got out everything he needed to start lunch. He glared at the knife block and pile of vegetables he needed to cut. 

The kitchen door opened. Stiles came in tentatively, swaying on his crutches. “I thought you might need some help,” he said quietly. “Since you’ve only got one arm to use.”

Derek nodded. “Thanks.” He still needed to talk to Stiles, anyway. He got him set up with a cutting board at the table while he seasoned and prepared the chicken. 

They worked in silence at first.

Derek couldn’t figure out how to say what he’d been thinking. He still had the note in his pocket. He had so much to ask Stiles; he was almost paralyzed with indecision. He swallowed and turned to the bowls of cheese he had laid out. The chicken was breaded and browned lightly. He grabbed the baking pan he’d be using.

“Did you mean it?” The question popped out while he was midstride to the table. He hovered with the baking pan, frozen with horror, before finally sitting across from Stiles. He set the pan down.

“Did I mean what?” Stiles asked cagily. He focused very hard on the garlic he was cutting up.

Derek took the note out of his pocket and carefully spread it out on the table top. He smoothed the wrinkles gently. He could feel Stiles’s tension, but he didn’t look at him. “I’m in love with you.” He waited a beat for the announcement to crash land into him. “I will understand if—if you were just writing in the heat of the moment.” He clenched his left hand around his cast, sending a jolt of pain up and down his forearm. “I know it—I know you thought you’d never see me again, so—I just wanted to let you know. That I love you.”

Stiles inhaled noisily. “That…is a load of bullshit.” 

Derek’s head snapped up. “ _What?_ ” He felt his heart crack cleanly in two. “Why—you-”

He shook his head. “No. That’s all bullshit. The Derek Hale _I_ know wouldn’t accept that.”

Derek gritted his teeth. “I am trying to be empathetic. I know I’m abrasive,” he growled.

“Don’t give me that empty bullshit about how you’ll understand,” Stiles shot back. “Tell me what you really think.” 

“I-”

“Don’t bullshit me.” 

“Fine!” he snapped. “Fine! I’ll be fucking pissed if you just wrote that because you thought you were going to die, because I am in _love_ with you, stupid with it, and you almost died! I thought you _were_ dead and I was pissed at you for that. If you say you only wrote it because you thought you’d die, not because you really felt it, I’ll think you’re a petty, selfish asshole.” He glowered at him. “Satisfied?”

Stiles laughed, his face lighting up under the bruises. “I love you, too.” 

“Asshole,” Derek muttered. 

Stiles reeled him in for a kiss, cupping his cheeks. He leaned back but kept holding his face. “How could you not know?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know.” He licked his lips. He had one more burning question. “Why did you leave the pictures with me?”

Stiles smiled and pressed their foreheads together. The stitches in his scratched against Derek’s. He smiled and said, “You’re the safest place I know.”


End file.
